


Oh, la la

by VereorInHell



Category: All American (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25472665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VereorInHell/pseuds/VereorInHell
Summary: Asher goes on holiday with his mother on the other side of the ocean, in Europe. He finally gets to spend time with her, visit France, and meet new people. Some of them will change his life forever. He just hopes he'll survive this holiday, is all.
Relationships: Asher Adams/Layla Keating, Asher Adams/Olivia Baker, Asher Adams/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	1. A yacht, an asshole and too much alcohol

There are things that you don’t need to think about. They’re given, facts, certainties. No need to question what’s solid.

And Asher Adams has few certainties in life, but, those he has, he relies on them like it’s all he has.

Because that’s what they are: all he has.

He knows he likes football and he’s good at it, and that he has a shot for fame and a professional career, but he also knows that he has to work for it and stay focused.

He knows he is a good friend, to the few people he is close enough to consider such, and he tries his hardest to be loyal to them. When he fucks up he works hard to either cover it or make up for it – and he decides which of the two to go for purely on the ground of objective considerations.

Realizing he’s cheated on Layla has hurt himself too. Probably in the first place. Realizing he’s dragged Olivia down with him has hurt even more. He’d been terrified he’d taken advantage of her, that she’d been too out for it – and then when he’s found out she’s overdosed the same night… but at least she has been conscious enough with him. Hell, she even remembers it.

But, anyway. Back to the point.

He knows he loves Layla. Even after what’s happened. He knows he loves Olivia, although in a (probably?) different way. And he knows he’s been a terrible friend to both, and in general to anyone the past month or so.

Disloyal to his team, to the point he should thank Jordan for calling him out on his behavior, forcing him to admit what he was actually doing.

Unbelievably stupid, with all the lies and the pretending, the secrets, the drugs. God, the drugs. He’s risked his entire future like an idiot. And for what? Nothing.

For jealousy. Here has come Spencer James, the last of the nobodies, and all of a sudden Asher loses his girlfriend, his spot in his team, his best friend’s respect and whatever feeble connection he still had with Olivia. How was that fair?

Seriously, how is all that fair.

Then again, let’s be objective. Did any of this justify compromising everything with the steroids? No. it never has. And Spencer was, is, after all, an objectively better player than Asher. He could be objective enough to admit that – in fact, being objective has always been something he’s been good at.

So, new certainty in life: it turns out he can screw up really big time, when he’s scared shitless. It’s not the stress of a game that gets to him, no, it’s the bone-deep fear of losing face, his status, that makes him lose his cool and act like a complete idiot.

So, all these things considered… he shouldn’t really be surprised this is the way things ended up, uh?

-o-

He spits another mouthful of blood and grimaces. Gross. And his ribs hurt like hell in this position, compressed under the weight of his upper body. Judging from the pain, one of them is busted, at least.

Damn, those guys hit hard.

He slowly rolls on his back, back to the position he was before. His ribs hurt less this way, but it’s not the greatest choice if you’re spitting blood. Might end up chocking on it.

God, let it just be too much saliva and a split lip, and not something more serious. Like a perforated lung. God, if it’s a perforated lung he’s so fucked. He’s never getting over an injury of that extension fast enough he’ll be able to play when he’s back in Cali.

Also he doesn’t want to end up in a hospital where they don’t speak English. And his French is terrible.

The thought tears a quiet, small fit of laughter from his throat, promptly interrupted by a pained moan.

Damn.

And he’s got to get up, soon or later.

Oh god. He so does not want to think about how much pain that will cost him.

He could lie in this spot in the dirt some more, couldn’t he? It’s a nice spot, after all, if you forget the fact that it’s a seedy alley in some French city, and if you ignore the reek of trash coming from every direction. Or the way the concrete is wet under his shirt – whatever slime was there having now soaked the fabric.

Although it could be sweat or blood just as well.

He closes his eyes and sighs. Slowly, because breathing hurts and he’s an idiot but not that much.

He is a fucking idiot, isn’t he.

-o-

It went like this: his mom invited him to spend the summer holidays with her, on her fancy new yacht. Well, on her partner’s (boyfriend’s? Gosh, Asher can’t think of that man as a boyfriend, he’s sixty, for fuck’s sake) fancy, new yacht. Anyway. The aforementioned sixty years old man his mom is dating, Tom, would not mind Asher being there, and, what about Asher, would Asher mind if Tom was there, too?

At first, Asher has been tempted to say yes, and refuse going. True, he really wished to have some time to reconnect with his mother and there were tons of things he wanted to ask her, especially now that it had been clear that what Asher had been told by his father for the past two years were complete lies. And yes, Asher’s father has been a complete bag of dicks to her, Asher has no problem admitting it now, but, still. He wasn’t really comfortable with the thought of hanging around his mother, and the man his mom has replaced his dad with.

But then he talked with Olivia, and he decided he’s spent so much time just missing her, and, in general, missing a parent who actually gives a fuck about him as a person rather than his achievement, that he’s decided he could put up with Tom for a month or so.

Plus Tom has actually turned out to be a nice guy, too. Okay fine, maybe nice was a bit too much, but, at least decent. He treats Asher’s mom well, and he understands her needing to spend time with her son. Yes, he leans a bit too much on the conservative side for Asher’s liking, and he doesn’t know much about football, but he clearly doesn’t plan on coming between mother and son. As long as there are topics for polite conversations and small talk, Tom doesn’t mind having Asher around. 

Of course he expects Asher to watch his manners a tad more than his dad would, though. Or the way he looks. And he doesn’t condone Asher lashing out on his mother when they fight – although that’s happened only once, and Asher was more worried about hurting his mom’s feeling rather than offending Tom’s delicate sensitivity.

Anyway.

The new yacht is huge (Tom is loaded and looks like Asher’s mom has turned out to be quite the entrepreneur herself, too). It’s only the three of them and the staff on board, and still there is enough room you can get lost in it and not meet another person for fifteen minutes of you roaming through it.

Asher and his mom have flown together from Paris, spent a couple of days there, then moved to the nice and warm Mediterranean Sea, where Tom and the yacht have been waiting for them. Tom has a villa (a fucking mansion) in Nice, France, and one in Sardinia, in Italy. They move the yacht from one to the other as they please. Asher doesn’t ever want to know how much this vacation costs – although sometimes this thought makes him think about his father.

His dad has had this much money, maybe more, but he’s lost it all. And he’s been a terrifyingly huge dick to his wife. And when she’s walked out he’s reached the point of actually threatening her just so that she would leave Asher with him. Asher is still pretty sure that the reason moving his father to demand his son stayed with him hadn’t been affection, but rather purely spite, and the knowledge he’d hurt his ex-wife.

Whatever. It’s not that his dad was a monster – to him, at least. But he definitely sucked as a dad, if only maybe not as he did as a husband.

Anyway. Asher has gone with his mother. And the holiday has started. He writes to Olivia at least once per day and calls her almost as often.

He’s noticed the ways she’s fading. Her answers are more and more evasive, her eyes grow dull and nervous. Something troubles her and she doesn’t tell him what, and Asher doesn’t know what to do from the fucking middle of the, admittedly beautiful but way too damn far, Mediterranean Sea.

He considers it a half win the fact he’s made her admit that something is bothering her, and that she’ll tell him as soon as they reunite. Which is enough to tip Asher that some serious shit is going on, not some stupid stuff like oooops I’ve made out with Spencer. Ok still he really wishes it’s not that, okay.

Anyway.

In all of this, his mom didn’t want her son to get bored and, being the smart woman she is, she’s proceeded to introduce him to some of her new, local friends who have children Asher’s age.

‘Come meet the Colemans’ has turned into Asher being dragged to almost every single club populating the French coast on this side of the ocean, by overenthusiastic and very gay Jacques Coleman and his model-like sister Marion. Both of whom flirt with Asher as if it was the air they breathe, and don’t really care that he’s a, not interested, and b, taken.

The Coleman siblings have introduced him to all their friends, showing Asher off in a way that bordered on creepy. It must have been a very boring summer for them before his arrival, Asher has quickly concluded. Still, he wonders if what he feels is what horses would feel when they’re being sold.

The Colemans are filthy rich and know how to party, so, don’t get him wrong: he’s having a good time with them, even if he doesn’t really understand the way their brain works. They know tons of people and invite so many of their so-called friends Asher has stopped bothering to try and learn their names; he’d rather focus on all the alcohol that never misses. Seriously, there’s so much like he’s never seen, and he wakes up hangover basically every morning after going out with them. He’s started to wonder if he should maybe stop. Dedicate the rest of the month to, well, just his mom. Maybe books.

In case you’re wondering how Asher has gone from being plastered at clubs every night to his current position, lying in a seedy alley in Nice, France. Here is what’s happened.

The Colemans invite him out, just like any other night so far. They point people at him and tell him names he immediately forgets, and proceed to add an incredible amount of gossip, most of which really nasty, about all the people they call friends. Asher doesn’t pay any of them much attention, being all the same people after a while: some of them are rich bitches, some are tough guys looking like thugs, and some of them really are actual thugs.

Tonight enters the club beautiful Josephine, who is Jacques’ best friend (Asher notices the gossip is considerably tuned down to what the Colemans must consider the strict minimum when they mention her) and who is currently dating Jacques’ ex.

Six feet and then some of a bulky, muscular-chested Arab-prince looking guy, with the face of Instagram’s next most followed model.

As Jacques puts it: a real bastard.

“But, mon dieu, il te sais foutre si bien!” he adds, sharing an eloquent, starry-eyed look with his sister.

Asher liberally translates that with ‘he’s good in bed’.

The Arab-prince looking guy, as Jacques and Marion explain, is the son of the richest family in town, although it’s not entirely clear what business his family is involved with. Asher looks pointedly at Marion after she adds this information, wondering if he’s understood what he thinks she’s telling him. He’s met with a twin, expressionless stare on the Colemans’ faces, and yes, he thinks he’s understood pretty well.

Despite usually being the main source of gossip in the family, Jacques is now almost silent, and lets his sister do most of the talking. He busies himself with throwing adoring looks the guy’s way and looking, in Asher’s opinion, rather pathetic. Especially if you consider the guy is one of Jacques’ exes.

‘It’s pretty clear who dumped whom’ Asher muses to himself.

That’s when Asher notices that Rajid (so is called the guy) and his thugs-looking friends are systematically cornering all the weak-looking guys in the club and threatening them into giving them money. When some of the guys resist they’re not above hitting them into compliance. Given that they’re a group of many, and all packing muscles, it’s really an unfair advantage.

One of Jacques’ friends, Asher thinks his name is Ben, is actually being punched until his face is bleeding and he falls to the floor. Security doesn’t intervene, as soon as the bouncer notices Rajid.

Asher turns to the Colemans, not drunk enough to just laugh this out.

Marion rolls her eyes, as if she was wondering why she’s been talking all this time, if this is the way Asher reacts as soon as Rajid does something remotely shady. Jacques just shrugs.

“Ben is loaded, Cher” he explains, insisting on butchering Asher’s name into the nickname the Colemans have renamed him: “he shouldn’t have resisted when Rajid’s asked”

He sounds as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Well, it isn’t, at least not to Asher. Drunk or not, at some point he leaves the Colemans and slips in front of the newest target of Rajid and his crew, shielding him from the groups of thugs.

He may or may not achieve the sole result of simply attracting their attention to himself. Some of them engage him, pushing him around. He’s busy dodging their fists to cover the guy, who ends up flat on the floor and is efficiently robbed of his money. That’s when Rajid jerks his chin Asher’s way and his thugs friends drag him outside, in the famous alley.

The Colemans watch in stunned, inebriated, elated incredulity, muttering something about Americans in perfect, albeit creepy, synchrony.

It’s not a fair fight. It’s too many of them, and yes, Asher can throw a decent punch or two, actually does, despite not being fully sober, but they’re too many, and most of them do this for a living. He goes down hard, his face hurting after a punch that almost split his cheek open. He thinks the handprint of the fist on is face belonged to Rajid himself. Someone wanted to break his nose too, but Rajid stopped them. So they turned to kicking him as he is on the ground.

He blinks his eyes open, breathing quietly. He wonders how he is supposed to go back home. He wonders if he’s got any chance his mom won’t find out. And he wonders if he should, maybe, tell her. But this is apparently much bigger than a bunch of bullies.

For some weird reason he ends up thinking about what Rajid has told the guy who’s wanted to break Asher’s nose. It was in quick French so Asher might have completely misunderstood, but, he thinks Rajid said something about Asher’s eyes being pretty, and not ruining that.

‘Weird’ he thinks, but then he remembers this guy dated Jacques. So he obviously is a bully, but at least not a homophobic one. And he might have really said that.

‘Weird’ he thinks again, not really sure how he should feel with the knowledge that his apparent prettiness has literally saved his face.

He tries to roll on his knees. It hurts so fucking much, and he mentally curses to high heaven. The deaf echo of the beats from the club hasn’t stopped, but he doesn’t hear anything that makes him think someone is coming his way.

On the one side: good, no thugs coming for round two.

On the other side: fuck the Colemans, fuck that Ben guy or whoever it is Asher has helped. Fuck them for probably leaving and possibly even joining Rajid instead of coming to check on Asher’s sorry ass.

He coughs again and spits blood. He probes around with his tongue and thinks that yes, it’s probably just a busted lip and too much saliva. Teeth all in place, and, even if the ribs hurt horribly, maybe they’re not broken.

Still, he’s in so fucking much pain.

A hand appears in his field of vision. A slender wrist, a Tiffany bracelet, manicured fingers and the cuff of an expensive shirt. Asher looks up and meets Jacques bored, absolutely fake expression.

The blond boy fidgets under Asher’s stare and shakes the proffered hand.

“Do you want help or not?”

Asher is tempted to refuse, but ends up accepting. Jacques hoists him up, keeping him close. His slender body is surprisingly strong. The shameless way Jacques takes advantage of the close proximity to cop a feel all over Asher’s chest is less surprising.

Asher glares harder, but Jacques laughs, not even a bit embarrassed about that.

“What, can you blame me?”

Asher doesn’t snort, but only because he knows it’d hurt.

“I’m surprised you’re here at all” he mutters.

He doesn’t look at Jacques and doesn’t add anything else, just focuses on keeping his eyes on the ground and putting one foot in front of the other, walking slowly but at a steady pace. The silence that follows right after tells him that anyway, Jacques has heard all the words that Asher hasn’t uttered, too.

Thank you for not helping. Thank you for not stopping them.

Thank you for at least not leaving me here.

Jacques clears his throat, nervous.

“I’m sorry it took me this much before coming here. But, I told you, Rajid is my ex. I’m not too fond of the idea of him hitting me again. I had to wait until he came back in. And anyway, I’ve already explained it to you. My friends have money. You shouldn’t have interfered”

Asher doesn’t comment. He doesn’t even raise his eyes. Once again he lets his silence speak for him.

Jacques clears his throat again.

“He likes you, you know” he murmurs, suddenly uneasy.

Asher throws him a confused glare. He hopes Jacques doesn’t mean it the way he thinks he means it.

“Rajid, I meant” he adds, confirming Asher’s fears.

“He likes you, he told me. He told me I could come here and help you”

It takes Asher several moments to process Jacques’ words, and several others to just breathe his fury out. He focuses on walking and wonders if his mom would forgive him for putting Jacques Coleman’s pretty head through a wall.

Fuck this Rajid guy, fuck Jacques Coleman, and fuck Asher’s life, too.

“So… you’ve waited him to give you permission?” he repeats.

Jacques shrugs. No big deal.

Asher nods. He presses his lips so close together they fuse in a thin line, almost white.

“You are seriously sick in the head” he replies, stopping and staring right into Jacques’ pale eyes.

Then he looks away, trying to shake himself out of Jacques’ hold, but the French boy doesn’t let go of him, and actually takes even more of Asher’s weight on himself.

“I know” he whispers, sounding very close to tears.

Asher doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear this.

He’s hurting and he wants to go home. He wants to forget all this shit. He wants to call Olivia and tell her how fucking crazy these kids are.

The silence between them turns awkward, but at least they have almost made it to the side door of the club, the one with no bouncer.

“I’m just in love” Jacques whispers, so low Asher almost doesn’t hear.

Asher stops and glares at him. Jacques looks pathetic and sad. He’s actually crying, a silent tear rolling down his cheek. He looks embarrassed, and Asher has a feeling he’s never told this to anybody, not even his sister, not even himself.

“I’m just in love” he repeats: “I miss him, and he’s never going to take me back, you know? I’m… I’m old news. I’m lucky he still talks to me. He says I amuse him”

Asher bites his tongue before he actually tells Jacques how pathetic he is.

He just shakes his head, incredulous.

“He’s just an asshole, Jacques. Do you know how many assholes there are in the world? You can find another one. You don’t need to prostrate yourself on the floor for this one. If it’s a bastard you want, it’s the thing the world is most full of. And stop defending him. Fucking hell, he’s a goddamn criminal” he seethes.

The memory of Spencer James floats up, the time he and Asher have spent the night together, frenetically working on a solution to repair a car to save Asher’s face. The way Spencer seemed to know a lot more of the world than Asher did. He wonders if it’s the same now, between him and Jacques. He wonders what would Spencer James do – probably handle this much better, but, you know what, fuck Spencer James too, he doesn’t care.

Jacques shakes his head, refusing to listen to what Asher has just told him.

“You don’t understand. Nobody is like him. And anyway, he likes you now. You have a chance. And you are a stupid American, but I like you, and I want you not to waste this chance. I’d give anything to be in your position. Just… watch what you’re saying about him”

It is pretty clear from the way Jacques speaks and looks that he totally believes what he is saying, and that he thinks he’s passing Asher some precious information that he should keep for himself.

Asher stares at him for a while, silent, schooling his face into an expressionless mask. Then he snaps.

“Are you for real?? No, nevermind, don’t answer that. You know what, I’m going home. I’m tired. I’m way too tired of this shit. And don’t bother calling me tomorrow. I’m not sure I want to see you guys ever again”

He jostles his way out of Jacques’ hold and ignores the pain the movement causes. He’s so mad he doesn’t even care about hurting Jacques’ feelings either. But Jacques doesn’t let him go, he grabs Asher by the wrist and hisses hurriedly: “No, you don’t understand. He’s still here. And he is waiting for you. He sent me because he wants to see you, and he wants me to bring you to him”

Ashes breathes a couples of times. Slow and steady, through his nose. It hurts but it helps, it grounds him. It’s what saves Jacques’ face, probably. He’s getting the feeling they’ve left the field of just creepy, and have now entered seriously dangerous territory. It’s definitely better if he stays calm.

“Listen. I don’t care if he’s still here. I don’t care if he wants to see me. I don’t care if you think he is some kind of god. Thank you for coming to get me, although I guess I should probably thank Rajid. Now, I am going home.”

He shakes his wrist free and staggers away. He walks through the club, painfully holding his throbbing side. He looks only in front of him, keeps his eyes low, on the floor. He ignores Jacques and Marion, anyone calling him or trying to follow him. And he definitely does not turn around when people shouts that butchered version of his name the Colemans have taught anyone to call him with. He thinks he passes by some of Rajid’s friends and he’s pretty sure they laugh at the way he limps. He ignores it all.

He focuses only on walking out the club and away from the entrance. He collapses against a wall little after that, though, winded.

There is no way he can walk home. He doesn’t even know where he is. He should have asked someone of the club’s personnel to call him a taxi or an uber.

He’s holding himself up, one arm braced against the wall. The other still applies pressure to his ribs – no, nothing is broken but shit, he’s still going to have them checked. Shit, he’s going to have to tell his mom.

He breathes slowly, but it’s getting a tiny more difficult now, he has to focus to get air through, and everything is starting to fade into black, the sound fading into undistinguished, background noise.

“Cher” a deep voice says.

Asher is hit by a rush of adrenaline as a strong hand is placed on the small of his back. He startles and twists towards the newcomer, but the rapid intake of air coupled with the sudden movement hurt, and he collapses forwards with a pained moan.

Two arms close around his middle, holding him up without applying pressure to his injured side. He ends face first into someone’s chest – someone very tall, well dressed, and who works out a lot.

That could mean just about anyone, but Asher’s life is fucked, and he freezes, and slowly looks up.

The tranquil look in Rajid’s eyes clashes with his smirk.

“Cher” he repeats, misspelling Asher’s name like the Colemans and just about anyone else in this country.

Asher grits his teeth and glares, but he doesn’t try to leave the safety of Rajid’s hold. They both know it’s the only reason Asher still stands.

“It’s Asher” he growls.

Rajid’s smirk widens: “I’m sure, Cher”

Asher bites his tongue. Rajid’s arms close tighter around his middle, putting the tiniest amount of pressured on his abused ribs. Like a reminder.

He swallows the insults he wants to hurl this asshole’s way and settles for just glaring. He doesn’t like the way Rajid is leaning down either.

Jacques and his friends might think Rajid is hotter than the sun (and Asher can admit he looks fine, ok), but he does not plan to add molestation or sexual assault to the list of unpleasant experiences he’s went through tonight.

“D' you think you’d mind giving me some air? I’m not sure I’m comfortable with a guy this close” he says, plastering on a falsely sweet smile.

Rajid, amused, chuckles.

“I don’t care. Actually, I quite like making guys like you uncomfortable” he replies, and leans further down.

Asher plasters his back against the wall, but even so, there isn’t much room for him to escape. He opts for option b and silently braces for more pain.

“Look, I’m just giving you some warning man. I’m not interested. And for your information, even if I were into guys, I still wouldn’t be into assholes who break my ribs”

Rajid stops smirking. He glares back at Asher, then he flattens a hand over Asher’s ribs, pushing hard. Asher chokes out a pained moan, and that’s when Rajid whips his other hand up and wraps it around Asher’s throat, and squeezes.

Asher struggles to breathe, the black spots back in his field of vision, his chest hurting like hell.

Rajid bends until his mouth hovers very close over Asher’s’, his black eyes gleaming.

“I like that you have a spine, Cher. I like your fire. It’s not something I get to see much around here anymore. And you’re pretty enough too. But do not forget your place” he hisses.

Asher would love to say this is when he punches the guy or kicks him in the balls. But as it is, he is desperately trying not to faint. He goes for glaring and hopes he’s doing enough of that. The fuck you he really, really wants to wheeze out is stuck on the tip of his tongue.

Slowly, Rajid’s hand around his throat stops squeezing, and the other one falls away from Asher’s ribs.

He takes a step back and straightens again, looking down at Asher with inscrutable eyes.

“Come on, I’m taking you back”


	2. Speeding cars

In all honesty, the last thing Asher wanted was to find himself alone in a car with the guy whose fault it is if he can’t breathe regularly.

Whose fault it is that Asher isn’t still drunk and enjoying the night.

But he was so damn tired, he just wanted to leave the fucking club and go home. Put some ice on his face and drown in Tylenol.

So he just went with it – specifically, he went with him, hoping that Rajid wouldn’t punch him some more, try to jump him or, why not, straightforwardly kill him this time.

As it turns out, Rajid has helped him get into his supercar, told him to buckle up and proceeded to drive Asher towards Tom’s villa at relatively normal speed. They haven’t spoken a word since Rajid has started the engine, and Asher isn’t sure he wants to break the silence.

He looks outside his window, his hand still pressed on his ribs, and sees his reflection. God he looks terrible. But most of it shouldn’t be that serious. The bruise on his cheek is darkening to a nasty, blueish shade of red already, and the split lip still stings, but at least it’s stopped bleeding.

He’s pretty sure all this will be gone in a week, but he’s going to look really bad for the next few days. And there is no way he can keep his mom out of this. Or Olivia. He’s got to figure out a way to tell her before scaring her with the view.

Thinking about Liv makes him almost smile – but he doesn’t want to smile with Rajid so close. He wonders what she’s doing and twists slightly, looking towards the cockpit of the car where he knows there must be an indicator of what is the time. He finds a digital clock and winces internally. Back home it’s late afternoon, so Olivia must be out, probably doing something. God, that’s what Asher wishes. He wishes she’s not home alone, crying. He hopes she’s with Layla. Hell, even Spencer would be better.

… Okay fine, that’s not true, Asher probably thinks Olivia alone is a better perspective than Olivia with Spencer, but, he knows this is only his point of view. In Olivia’s perspective, nothing is worse than solitude, and Asher should know better than being jealous. But, well, sue him: he’s lost a girlfriend to Spencer James already, he doesn’t really want to go through that a second time. he doesn’t like admitting he’s jealous, but, well, he is.

Still, better Spencer than Olivia alone. He wonders how disloyal it’d be if he called or texted Jordan to demand he checked on his sister.

‘I mean, it’s your fucking sister, can’t you just ask her how she’s doing’ he thinks, frowning slightly.

Anyway. Usually Asher and Olivia video-call each other when it’s early morning in France and late evening back in Cali. It turned out that five or six AM find Asher awake pretty often, with his current lifestyle, so they’re just winging it.

He pats the pocket of his jeans where he knows he’s put his phone. Thank god it’s still there, and he hasn’t lost it – or, well, thank god Rajid’s friends hadn’t been interested in taking that too, along with his money. He refrains from glaring the driver’s way but it costs him some effort. Instead he focuses on slipping it out and checking for messages.

Liv has texted him, as he’d imagined. He can’t help the smile at the admittedly weird but in her cute way picture she’s sent and starts typing a reply.

“Who are you texting?” Rajid asks, his voice only this far from being plainly rude or mad.

Asher has almost forgotten about him, he hopes Rajid doesn’t see him startling slightly. He lifts an eyebrow and throws a disbelieving look his way.

Seriously, what does this guy think he is? And why do people treat him like he is so special. Asher is starting to reconsider his previous idea, maybe he should come clean with his mom and ask her that they press charges. This guy’s family might be rich and influential, but, come on. He is a lunatic on top of being a criminal. How can he not be stopped.

“Not your damn business” he replies, after a few seconds that he spent considering whether it was a good idea to actually insult the nutcase at the wheel of the car Asher is being driven into.

But even after the smart reply he puts his phone away, not wanting to press his luck. He ignores the way Rajid is glaring at him and makes a show of pointedly looking again outside his window – but he can see Rajid from his reflection there, and he notices the way his jawline sets in a firm way that indicates gnawing teeth.

He braces for pain, but it’s not the punch he expected that comes next.

Rajid slams his foot on the brake hard, the tires shriek. Asher is violently sent flying forwards, and thank god he’s wearing a seatbelt or his head would be making close acquaintance with the windshield – but still, the impact is enough that the belt sends hot spikes of pain all along Asher’s injured sides.

Rajid quickly move the car out of the middle of the busy street, other drivers shouting and honking at them. He ignores them and kills the engine.

Asher is about to open his mouth and try shouting anything at him, or even to just open the door and run his way out of the car, away from this lunatic, but he finds himself too busy trying to breathe through the rush of pain still flooding his senses.

Rajid, one arm carelessly slumped on the wheel, turns enough to face Asher. He looks calm and in control, but it’s obviously a façade, and Asher is getting all the kind of ideas about how dangerous this madman really is.

“Who were you texting?” Rajid repeats, and he sounds as dangerous as he looks.

Still struggling to breathe and avoiding any unnecessary movement at all costs, Asher glares and raises his middle finger between them.

“Fuck… you” he wheezes out.

Rajid’s composure breaks. He obviously hasn’t expected the reaction: he looks startled for a few long, terrifying seconds, that Asher spends wondering if the fury he sees mounting up in Rajid’s eyes will translate into Asher’s departure from this life.

But then, just as quickly as it’s appeared, the fury in Rajid’s eyes is gone, and Rajid chuckles, honest to god amused, and then he even laughs.

Asher feels too stunned to react properly. He prudently lowers his hand, before this madman breaks his finger, and he goes back to nursing his side and trying to breathe normally.

Rajid shakes his head and looks Asher’s way with something Asher can’t really decipher, but that might be fondness.

Which is extremely bad news, and it sends a shiver of fear down his spine. Every alarm bell in Asher’s brain goes off in an instant.

“Ah, Cher, tu es incroyable. I like you. It’s been a really long time since I’ve met someone like you, you know? Someone with a bit of personality”

Asher can’t help himself and replies, voice cold: “You mean someone who isn’t willing to roll over and treat you like a god? Yeah, sorry, not gonna happen, man”

Rajid smiles, his eyes speaking louder than any word possibly could.

Asher freezes.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. This lunatic has taken his words as a challenge.

Asher tries to repress the obvious shiver of fear that runs down his spine, but he’s pretty sure Rajid’s trained eye doesn’t miss it.

Shit. He didn’t mean to put it like a challenge. He absolutely was not planning on daring Rajid on anything. The only thing Asher planned involving Rajid was never seeing him again. Rajid couldn’t misinterpret more – and it’s obvious the way this guy has taken to Asher’s words.

Asher is pretty sure he has just won himself a stalker, and a dangerous one.

“Cher, you should be careful what this pretty mouth of yours is saying. It sounds like you’re flirting with me” Rajid comments, silky voice and predatory smirk.

Now, something unprecedented and, Asher can assure anyone, absolutely unexpected happens here.

It’s not the fear, that Asher still feels running down his veins and pumping adrenaline. That is normal, given that Asher is already injured, this guy is huge, clearly a psychopath and apparently dead-set on chasing after Asher as if he’s the new, hot thing in town and just playing coy.

Fear is not unexpected. Fear means Asher’s brain still works.

Then there is anger. But that isn’t unexpected either. Triggered by Rajid’s cocky words. Seriously, this guy needs a reality check and he needs it badly, like, yesterday. Asher would never tell him anything but a solid ‘no’ hurled to his face even if he were not straight.

So, fear, anger… Both normal.

It’s the fucking blushing that isn’t.

Now, don’t you go and make yourself the wrong assumption. Asher is used to compliments. He likes them and preens under the attention. He’s never been one chasing for them but still, he loves receiving some. But he’s never reacted like this.

Mainly because he would usually receive appreciation for his physical appearance from girls. The attention he usually gets from men is more in the form of jealousy. Look how rich I am, how cool I am, how hot my girlfriend is, how cool my friends are. Look how good a football player I am, how bright my future looks.

And yes, he knows it has happened, guys checking him out or blatantly trying to flirt with him. But Asher would just laugh and ignore it. And promptly forget about that. It’s just that he’s not interested.

So the last thing he can understand is why he is fucking blushing, right now.

When a man who is an utter psycho drops a terrible, arrogant line on him.

A man who is dangerous, and has already proved that he doesn’t mind maiming him. A man who slams the fucking brake of his car and risks an accident just so he can get Asher to pay attention to him.

And, well, in general: a man.

Asher doesn’t like guys. Usually. Like, okay, he has eyes and he can tell if a guy looks hot and attractive, but he’s never been directly attracted to anyone who didn’t look like a female human being. He can admit that Rajid looks hot, and that if you’re attracted to Asher’s own gender then Rajid totally ticks all your boxes, but, this is the point: they are not Asher’s boxes. He has never, never-ever-ever-ever felt even the tiniest amount of attraction for a guy before. And he showers with hot looking guys his age about once per day.

Finding out that he, on the contrary, apparently does feel attraction for his own sex isn’t the problem. Well, it’s a bit embarrassing, yes, but, okay, so maybe he has a tiny thing for older and bigger, bulkier men who look able to throw him into a wall – but, this is the point. Rajid doesn’t just look like he could throw Asher into a wall, he totally would. Not giving a damn about whether he breaks Asher’s bones or not in the process.

He’s so tempted to flee the car.

‘I mean, okay brain, thank you for the update, we might like men. Big men. But I cannot believe I am this much of an idiot, that the men I like are the worst kind of bastards. This is just not on, brain’

This is when he comes to his senses and realizes that, a: he is still blushing. B: he is also gaping. C: Rajid is looking at him like the cat that’s cornered the mouse. That face actually wouldn’t look out of place on a wolf. Or a shark.

Asher shuts his mouth, teeth clicking. He glares at Rajid with all the energy he has left.

“You are out of your goddamned mind. If you think I would ever flirt with someone who has hit me. You are fucking crazy. You hear me? Crazy. Also by the way, I was texting my girlfriend. The one I have, and the one I love. So you can take whatever twisted dream you’ve obviously started to make and shove it up -”

But he never gets to finish. A strong hand closes around his throat and interrupts him, squeezing. Asher’s fingers fly to claw it away but in vain. He chokes, with almost no air getting to his brain already. Rajid smirks dangerously, holding Asher by the throat with the only one hand, the other still carelessly slumped on the wheel.

He leans forward, presses a chaste, small kiss to Asher’s jawline, kisses his way up until he reaches the bruise he’s left on Asher’s face. Then he mouths the abused flesh there and bites it, perfectly aware that it hurts, and all Asher is able to do is just take it as he tries to breathe. The only sound he can make is a choking noise.

Rajid licks Asher’s earlobe and keeps his mouth right under his ear. He chuckles, and he is holding the smaller boy so close against his front that Asher feels the other’s muscles move as he laughs.

Asher can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He desperately tips his head backward trying to gain a little room, in the vain hope that Rajid’s fingers won’t follow and he will get some air through, but Rajid’s grasp doesn’t ease.

Asher sees the first black spots coming back and he panics. He shuts his eyes – he doesn’t want to see them, he doesn’t want to faint, he doesn’t want to die. This goddamned psycho could rape him as he lies slumped there, unconscious – oh god, he hopes he’s not getting raped in any case.

The fingers around his throat shift.

Barely, but enough to let some air flow.

Asher opens his eyes, scared like he’s never been in his whole life, and meets Rajid’s hard look.

“You need to learn the difference between fire and respect, Cher. I like fire. But I will not let you disrespect me” he murmurs, still very close to Asher’s face.

He struggles, ignoring the pain it causes to his ribs. He manages to pry a finger away. Rajid, surprised, makes it to readjust his hold around Asher’s throat, but the boy wiggles more and he frees himself.

Asher’s hands fly for the car handle, then he remembers the belt he still has on, and he moves one to unbuckle it.

He never makes it out, though, the belt still traps him and Rajid locks the doors before Asher can try again and push his open.

An involuntary sound of distress and panic leaves Asher’s mouth as he’s slammed back into his seat, the belt is re-buckled and an arm is pressed down on his chest – at least it’s not contributing any further to the pain in his sides.

Asher tries to pry the arm from his chest, but Rajid raises from his seat and pushes his entire weight on the arm he’s using to keep Asher trapped where he wants him. He looms over him, and Asher finds new trouble breathing under all the added weight.

He is sure there are tears in his eyes.

“Just let me fucking go!” he shout, struggling with no avail under Rajid’s hold.

“No” Rajid replies, voice calm and expression unyielding.

Asher struggles more and starts crying.

“Cher. Asher. Calm down” Rajid orders, still too close, voice calm, but not moving any closer.

Asher tries to regain control over his breathing and heartbeat, and closes his mouth. It sets in a hard line.

“Let me go” he repeats, this time demanding. By some miracle his voice doesn’t break. He can feel the tears rolling down his cheeks.

“No” Rajid repeats: “I have said I’d bring you home, and I am going to do it”

“Then stop trying to fucking kill me!” Asher seethes, half shouting, half begging. The words are out before he can stop them.

Rajid’s eyes darken, and Asher braces for more pain, but it doesn’t come.

This time, Rajid takes a deep breath, he sighs and he moves back to his seat, removing his arm from Asher.

For a few long second Asher, stunned and rooted in his spot by fear, doesn’t move, feeling his blood circulation returning to normal in his chest. Rajid just looks outside the windshield, breathing steadily and in purposely regular intake. He keeps his hands around the wheel, and, when he sighs, Asher considers a second attempt for the door, but then Rajid starts speaking and he’s too terrified to actually move.

“I am sorry, Cher. I am too used to people knowing me. Knowing better than to antagonize me. This is the way I live. People do what I want them to do. I forgot that you… that you just don’t know”

Asher is a bit tempted to ask what exactly he doesn’t know, but, you know what, he doesn’t care, and he’s too afraid of doing anything that would put him in a position he doesn’t know how to get out. Or if he could.

So he just stares, noticing the way Rajid relaxes his fingers around the wheel, the way he looks almost apologetic as he twists and turns Asher’s way.

“I know what you must be thinking of me. I am a psycho, some sort of criminal. Right?”

Asher purses his lips.

“You forgot sadist”

Rajid smirks: “Yes well, you are not entirely wrong. But I am no monster. I am just selfish” he says, shrugging as if it was no big deal.

Asher bites his tongue to keep from shouting, fully aware it’s really only by some miracle he’s not being raped or killed that very moment. Rajid goes on as if what he said made perfect sense, and if Asher couldn’t but agree with him.

“I know you do not know that you are into me. It’s pretty clear. You don’t have to be ashamed of that. It’s actually normal. You aren’t the first guy who wants me but doesn’t know he does. Most of you have a girlfriend, most of you think you’re straight. You are just confused, it’s understandable”

‘Seriously, brain, I don’t care how hot he is, I am never letting him touch me, I swear’ Asher promises himself.

Rajid turns a condescending look to him: “You say you love your girlfriend. You think the others have never told me the same line? They all say this shit. But Cher, if you are straight, and if you love her, why are you hard for me now?”

Asher is stunned into silence. Rajid smirks a little, obviously tasting victory, and hints with his chin in direction of Asher’s lap. And Asher gapes, blushing but in fury, and is about to shout him to go screw his manipulative self with a screwdriver, when his eyes inadvertently fall on his lap.

And that is when his body catches up and remembers that oh yes, I have forgotten to update you but yes, there have been interesting new developments on the downstairs floor.

Asher must be even more fucked up than he’s always assumed because, well. Rajid is right. He is hard.

Asher looks at his erection as if it had betrayed him. Then he breathes out slowly, reverting to his usual, calm, logic self.

Because this situation is too crazy and dangerous to act out. He needs logic.

Yes, he is hard. Yes, it is obviously for Rajid. Yes, apparently he finds guys looking like Rajid hot. But this bastard is pissing out the bowl if he thinks he can screw with Asher’s conscience, because Asher knows that he can love Olivia and still get hard for someone else. Does he think he has never watched porn, for fuck’s sake?

Hell, does this line really work? How many poor suckers has he dragged into a bottomless pit of self-loathe only to exploit their weakened state and take advantage of them?

He glares, musters all the despise he feels for this psycho, and speaks in his cold, calm voice, the one he uses when he is in control. The one that makes adults respect him. The one that wins him a lot of recognition.

“You are some manipulative, twisted maniac, aren’t you”

Rajid’s mask trembles, the smirk flattened into a thin line. He hasn’t expected Asher to keep his cool. Asher wonders if it’s because usually the guys he deals with are so much dumber than Asher, or if they’re just eager to embrace the fresh discovery about their sexuality and give in to Rajid’s will.

‘Yeah well, not happening here’

“The fact that I might be attracted to a guy doesn’t have anything to do with what I feel for my girlfriend. I know it, you know it, and I know that you use it anyway, because you are a manipulative asshole, and I bet you use this line to get in people’s head. At least with the guys who try to resist your advances. But I’ll tell you this, if this shit usually works? Then I am sorry for the guys it works for”

Rajid smirks, but there is a hard light in his eyes.

“Oh, it worked well enough for Jacques” he comments.

Asher doesn’t miss a beat – seriously, did Rajid really think Asher would feel so shaken by the news? He even knew in advance about Rajid and Jacques.

“I am sorry for Jacques” he replies, holding his ground.

Rajid frowns, glaring, and Asher thinks he should work soon on a way to get out the car. But then Rajid smiles, his face opens, which is an alarming change. The bastard chuckles and shakes his head.

“Come on Cher, fine, I admit it. You are way smarter than the average. But your body just confirmed what I already knew. Stop bringing your girlfriend in and give your body what it wants, uh?”

Rajid leans closer, places a hand on Asher’s knee and the other on his thigh. Asher slams his own hands over Rajid’s, tries to move them away, but the other squeezes his fingers into the meat of Asher’s legs, anchoring them in a painful way. 

Asher winces, a soft, pained moan escaping him. He meets Rajid’s smirking eyes and holds his stare.

He is so fed up with this asshole’s fucking attitude.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he asks, calm: “I am never going to let you touch me. I am never going to sleep with you. So, either you jump me and then I will definitely bring this to the cop, and I don’t care how rich or famous or important you and your family are – if you think the Adams will not bring a squad of American lawyers in and have your sorry ass in jail, you’re sorely mistaken. So it’s either that, or you stop it now”

Rajid frowns and makes a clicking sound with his tongue: “Again with the disrespect”

“You can shove it up your ass, the disrespect, Rajid. Seriously. I am taken. I am not interested. You have beaten me and covered me in bruises, and I am never going to sleep with you”

Asher replies, calm and serious, and Rajid finally gets it. He moves his hands away, although he leaves one very close to Asher’s leg.

“You still want me” he insists.

Asher scoffs, even dares a laugh that is clearly all at Rajid’s expenses: “You might be hot, but you’ve lost your mind if you think you’re hot enough it makes up for what you’ve done to me”

Rajid stares at him, his mouth a thin line, and appears to be thinking.

“Fine” he says after a while: “fine. But I can make you forgive me. I will have the guys give you back your money. And I have stopped them from hurting you more, haven’t I?”

He looks at Asher in a way it’s almost as if he dared him to contradict him. He obviously believes this line must be either the winning compromise or some fine example of rhetorical mastery, the most perfect apologia.

What a bunch of bullshit, is all Asher thinks. He just wants to go home.

He shakes his head and almost goes again for the door handle, before remembering that it’s pointless, as they’re all still locked.

“Look… just take me home. I’m tired. I’m hurt. You’ve almost killed me, like, three times. Either unlock the fucking doors or drive”

Rajid looks at him for another while, silent again. Asher holds his stare, nervous, but he doesn’t back down. Finally, Rajid starts the car and pulls it into drive.

Asher looks out the window the entire time. He doesn’t catch a single glimpse of the darkened city outside though, too busy checking Rajid from the reflection. His shoulders stay tense until the villa comes in sight, and, even after that, Asher doesn’t relax much until they have almost reached the front gate.

Rajid stops the car and kills the engine, but he doesn’t unlock the doors. Asher notices and holds his breath. He is so close to making it out, and yet has never been this far. if he rolls down his window and shout, would someone come? The porter?

“Look” Rajid starts, in a condescending, agreeable tone. He throws Asher an odd glance.

“All you’ve said, you are right. You are smart, smarter than the others. Which is why I will be damned if I let you go back to your country before I’ve fucked you and make you admit I am the best you’ve ever had. But”

Asher doesn’t interrupt the monologue, although he desperately wants to, too afraid that he won’t make it out the car if he did. Too afraid Rajid would actually kidnap him and rape him and kill him. He’s so close to freedom.

‘Let him ramble. Who cares. It’s like a villain monologuing. Just ignore him’

Rajid goes on, undisturbed, eyes still on Asher.

“You’re right, we have started in the worst possible way. I will make it up to you, I promise. But you have to promise you will give me another chance”

Funny, Asher is pretty sure he’s already made it clear how he would never want to give Rajid any other chance, has actually never given one in the first place, and that he won’t.

But Rajid isn’t willing to let this go, or even let Asher go, and Asher just wants out.

“Rajid…” he starts.

“Say you’ll give me the chance and you can go” Rajid repeats, the manipulative bastard, proving Asher’s points.

Asher sighs and looks away, at the gate.

“Okay” he says, without turning back to look at the other.

“Okay” Rajid echoes, nodding to himself – Asher can see him from the reflection. The handsome face doesn’t look happy and it’s lost the arrogant smile. He actually looks as tired as Asher feels, ad if he’s not used to deal this much, this long with people he wants something from.

Like he’s used to not having to bargain to get something.

Asher represses violently down the disgust.

The doors click, unlocked.

Busted ribs or not, Asher has never been out of a car so damn fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case Asher's words in the story have not expressed this well enough please note that Rajid's line of behavior is abusive, manipulative and narcissistic. Please do not take this story as an encouragement to undertake relationships of this way. The aim of this is absolutely not to romanticize abusive relationships. Thank you.
> 
> Please consider leaving kudos or a comment, I will be very happy to hear what you think.


	3. Heart to heart

If Asher had to be extremely honest, it’s not like he’s famous for noticing the help, usually. He doesn’t know the cleaners or staff who worked at the Adams’ mansion, and he never made an effort in interacting with any of them. But one of the things that have stricken him since coming to France is how genuinely interested the staff members act towards him, his mother and Tom.

Which is why it shouldn’t surprise him to see the porter runs towards him when he sees Asher limping his way along the walkway path leading to the main entrance. The man isn’t in his prime age, he must be around sixty at least, but still he rushes to Asher’s side and insists that Asher lean his weight on his shoulders, carrying a good half of it.

Before they’ve reached the main doors Monsieur Leaudeville has radioed someone, and two bulky waiters hurry their way towards them. The three of them speak rushed French to each other, and Asher is too tired, too weakened and too ignorant to catch what exactly they say, but he has the feeling that Monsieur Leaudeville demands that at least one of the two help Asher by taking his other side, and that the third young man hurries to get someone else.

Asher is about to shake his head and wonder how many people are getting involved just because a stupid, dumb kid like him went out and fought with the wrong guy. He tries to refuse but he’s softly bullied into leaning on the second proffered shoulder. The young man who carries him quickly hisses something to Monsieur Leuadeville – probably something about being too old. The frail-looking old man is about to ruffle his feather and insist he can actually help just fine, but the young man repeats whatever he said before, and then he chuckles, and Asher doesn’t really understand but he joins the laughing and shakes his head.

“I assure you, I am fine. Thank you. I don’t need all this help. I am fine. It just looks worse than what it is”

The young man echoes something that sound like, see, I told you, and insists that the old man leaves. Monsier Leaudeville shakes his head but then smiles with fondness at them both – and Asher can’t help but find it weird. He understands why the man would smile like that to a colleague he obviously knows, but, him?

Still, it’s nice, this being treated like they cared.

He tries to walk holding his own weight as much as he can until the old man has disappeared from view, then he sighs.

“Stop being stupid. You can hardly walk. You’ll strain your injuries and end up in the hospital if you continue. I can carry you” the young man tells him in a low voice.

Asher turns surprised eyes to him, and considers replying, but then he just shakes his head and does what he is told. He lets the man carry most of his weight and just moves his feet along.

“What’s happened?” the guy asks.

Asher shakes his head: “I’m an idiot” he grumbles, his forehead sweating for the strain.

The young man chuckles: “Yes, well, join the club. Seriously, what did you do?”

Asher grits his teeth against his pain, then realizes that talking doesn’t hurt much, and works as a great distraction.

“Saw a bunch of guys robbing someone. Stepped in. I figured I could at least keep them focused on me as that poor bastard fled, you know?”

The guy chuckles again: “Let me guess, it didn’t work”

“Not even close” Asher admits.

“And they’ve rounded up on you, uh? How many were they? Five?” the guy asks.

Asher frowns: “I don’t know. I think ten? But some left once I’ve hit the floor. So” he tries to shrugs but it shoots a jolt of pain down his side. He winces and hisses.

“Yeah, don’t do that man. Try to just walk” he suggests.

Asher makes a small sound of agreement.

“Thanks, by the way. Much appreciated”

The guy smiles and snorts: “It’s okay. We aren’t used to this kind of things, you know? Mister Lagrange doesn’t have kids, and you can bet he never comes home in a state like yours now”

Asher snorts through his nose: “I bet” he comments.

His side hurts, and his head feels light. Too light. He raises a hand and his helper immediately halts to a stop, holding Asher by his elbows.

“You ok? Are you going to faint? Are you going to vomit? Please just don’t vomit on me”

“Gross” Asher mutters.

“Exactly” the guy agrees, raising an eyebrow.

Asher laughs softly, and stumbles forward. The guy catches him and guides him until Asher is resting his head on his chest. Which is when Asher realizes how much taller this guy is. Why is everyone taller than him, in this country? First Rajid, then this guy.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Thomas. I’m a gardener, actually. Guess you’re lucky I stayed the night this time, or you’d be stuck with Leon, otherwise”

Asher frowns, looking up.

“Monsier Leaudeville, the porter” Thomas explains.

Asher nods, then he sighs: “Ok, let’s try again” he decides.

They settle to their previous task. Walking feels difficult, but at least Asher’s head is not spinning anymore. Thomas helps him and distracts him with more small talk, asking about the club Asher was at, the people he went with. He gets the feeling Thomas knows the Colemans and doesn’t have too much sympathy for their kids.

When Asher mentions Rajid’s name, Thomas slightly freezes and then almost bursts out laughing. He stops at the last moment and shakes his head, throwing an impressed look Asher’s way.

“So you’re telling me you’ve told Rajid Soulein to go fuck himself?”

Asher makes to shrug but stops at the last second. Thomas, who has raised a hand to remind him not to, wiggles his eyes in a way that says aborting the movement was a good idea.

“Yeah” Asher replies simply.

Thomas laughs more, shaking his head. The guy Monsieur Leaudeville had sent after someone else reaches them, followed by a slender, educated-looking, middle-aged man.

Thomas stops in his track and asks something to the second guy and the older man. They speak in French, obviously about Asher, and they point at a door close by. Thomas carries Asher in the room behind it, which turns out to be a slightly more modest looking guestroom – and for more modest Asher means only vaguely less opulent.

“It is better if you spend the night here, Monsieur Adams” the educated, middle-aged man explains, and Asher gets the feeling this guy might be a doctor or something.

“Please, just Asher. Mister Adams is my father”

“Of course. Then, Asher, please, would you mind sitting here. I would like to check your ribs. Jien says you have trouble breathing, is it correct?”

Thomas and the second guy (who must be Jien, and who does, in fact, look Asian) speaks some more hurried French right behind Asher. Asher doesn’t get a word of it – too fast, probably slang too, but he ignores it and just collapses on the chair.

Thomas actually catches him and stops him, with his hands under Asher’s armpits right before Asher can let himself fall into the chair as he intended. Asher freezes mid-movement, notices the pointed way Thomas is watching him, and proceeds to sit down in a much more careful way.

The educated man chuckles: “Oh, yes, a very good idea, Thomas” he agrees.

Asher nods Thomas’ way, embarrassed.

The educated man turns out to be a doctor, and he answers to the name of Monsieur Kouhmen. Asher doesn’t notice any trace of Middle East in his face, despite the name sounding vaguely Arabic, and, as the doctor gently prods at his side, he points it out.

Then he blushes and hurries to add: “Uh, I hope that didn’t sound offensive…?”

Monsieur Kouhmen laughs: “No offence. My family has roots in Alger. But we have all lived in France since a long time ago”

Asher makes a sound of noncommittal. The fingers of the doctor are cold but not too much. They know where to push and where it’s best not to, but, even so, it hurts, and Asher winces.

“I beg your pardon” the doctor apologies.

“No need to” Asher replies, wondering when it was the last time he’s been this polite for this long.

Thomas says something in French, looking at the doctor and Jien. Asher thinks he hears Rajid’s name. he hopes he’s wrong. Jien immediately throws him a disbelieving look, then has to stop from laughing. The doctor frowns and demands something from Thomas. After more French words are exchanged, Jien laughs and the doctor sighs, shaking his head.

“You should pay attention, Asher. The Soulein family is dangerous people to have as enemy”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s what Rajid was going for” Asher comments sarcastically, before he can help himself.

Thomas and Jien look at him in silence. The doctor holds Asher’s eyes for a while, then he nods.

“Be careful what you do”

“Next time you tell him to fuck off you better be close to safety” Jien steps in. He smiles in a fond and amused way, almost as if he was proud of Asher.

It isn’t something Asher is used to.

The doctor doesn’t comment any further and rather busies himself with tending to the bruises on Asher’s face. Then he leaves, bidding him good night. Jien winks his way before leaving as well, still smiling.

This leaves Asher alone in the room with Thomas. He turns and watches the older boy with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m here to help you shower, man, don’t read too much into this. Don’t let Rajid’s attention make you think now every man wants you” he jokes.

Asher rolls his eyes: “Seriously, what is wrong with this town? Why does that sicko have that much influence anyway” he protests, and slowly makes to get up.

Thomas helps him and walks with him to the bathroom. As much as Asher insists he can do it without help, he lets Thomas help him getting rid of his shirt and his shoes, but he refuses to ask for assistance with his jeans and boxers. Thomas shrugs, understanding.

“Whatever, man, but don’t strain yourself just for the sake of your pride. If you’ve really said that to Rajid, your pride won’t have to worry for a long time”

Asher snorts, limping into the shower: “But my ass might, if I end up alone with him again, uh?”

Thomas laughs: “I didn’t say that, man”

“No, but you’ve thought it” Asher mumbles, opening the water. Thomas doesn’t seem to plan on leaving, and he twists slightly, eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“Don’t worry. I’m not interested. Solid straight and married man here. I’m just here so I can catch you if you faint or collapse”

Asher snorts but nods, actually appreciating. He sets to wash himself, feeling like an eighty years old man. He winces at almost every movement he makes.

“So you’re married? Aren’t you young for that?” he asks Thomas, hoping the small talk will distract him again from the pain.

Thomas gets it and goes along with it. They talk a bit, and Asher finds out that Thomas is actually an okay guy, they might even be friend, who knows, and when he’s done showering Thomas passes him a towel, and Asher tries to wrap himself into it at best.

He limps his way to the bed. Thomas has to help him sit.

“Do you want something to wear?” he asks, and Asher nods. He notices that his bag has been packed and brought here, and he points at the clothes he wears to sleep.

Thomas leaves after telling him to call if he doesn’t feel well, and explains that he’s going to have to wake him in a couple of hours to check that Asher doesn’t have a concussion.

Asher nods and thanks him.

Alone in the room, he grabs his phone, Thomas has left it on the nightstand, close to a glass of water. He slides it open and goes back to his chat with Olivia.

Soooo, he starts typing: what are you up to now? He asks.

She replies immediately. Asher smiles, his chest filling with warmth.

Nothing much. Waiting for my boyfriend to tell me if he’s had fun tonight 😊

Asher snorts.

Yes well, about that. Something happened. Don’t worry, but, I wanted to tell you in advance. I don’t look at my best right now.

Olivia sends him a ??? in reply.

What do you mean?

He pulls his lips in a thin line and wonders how he can put it.

I got into a fight. Some guys were being assholes. Like robbing other people. I stepped in. Not my smartest idea.

Olivia doesn’t waste time replying, she instantly face-calls him. Asher sighs and takes the call. He tries to look down so that the bruise on his face won’t be the first thing Olivia will see when the video loads, but, well.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?”

Asher winces and smiles ruefully: “Hey Liv, how are you”

“Screw that. Look at me, Ash. Ow, that looks painful. Jesus, what happened?” she asks.

Asher tells her. About the Colemans and their gossiping section, about Josephine, Rajid, Rajid’s friends… and about Asher’s newly found tendency to play hero, apparently. Olivia listens to all the story, humming and encouraging him forward every time he hesitates. He ends up telling her also about getting in the car with Rajid, about Rajid almost killing him in a car accident, choking him, and, well.

Asher blushes and looks down.

Olivia widens her eyes, clearly surprised by the news about Asher liking guys, as well.

“Oh, oh wow. Okay. I mean… hey, I like guys already, so, at least there’s something more we can talk about, you know” she tries to joke, but it’s pretty obvious she is still uncomfortable.

Asher looks up, into her eyes: “No, Liv, wait. You know that doesn’t have anything to do with us, right? I love you. It’s not that I don’t anymore, just because I, apparently, have just found out that… well. You know”

“I think I know, but I’d like to hear you say that” she replies, smiling but looking serious.

Asher rolls his eyes, looks away, uncomfortable.

“Yes, well. I just… I mean, can you blame me? I just found out I’m a bit less straight than I’d thought. And the guy that made me realize that is an utter psychopath. Seriously, he’s a criminal”

“Oh, I agree, from what you said he sounds like terrible news. Ash, I’m actually worried if he’s taken an interest in you” she agrees, nodding vehemently. Then she smirks and wiggles her eyebrows at him: “but, come on. Say it, Ash, come on”

Asher chuckles and rolls his eyes: “What, that apparently I am bi?”

“It’s okay, baby, seriously, I am fine with it. Actually I kind of find it a bit hot. I mean, does this mean I get to watch you make out with another hot guy? Because I’d totally love that”

“Liv!!” Asher exclaims, then he looks down and covers his eyes to hide the blush.

The cuteness of the moment is spoiled by the shot of pain and him wincing.

“Ow” he laments, struggling to breathe for a moment.

“Damn, Ash, it looks like you’re really in pain” Olivia comments, pulling her lips in a thin line.

“Yeah, I am. I hope it’ll be all gone by the time I’m back to Cali. I don’t want to have to sit games out because of a stupid injury”

Olivia nods in understanding. Then she looks at him bending her head in a sort of odd-looking angle and smiles.

“And, are you really okay with your new discovery?” she asks.

Asher sighs: “Honestly? If you were here I’d take it better. I mean, I swear, nothing happened. Beside the fact that this guy tried to jump me. Or choke me. Hell, even kill me. But, I… mmm…”

“You…?” she encourages him.

Asher sighs: “I feel like I’ve cheated on you”

Olivia nods: “Because you got hard?”

Asher wants to kiss her. Look at her, she knows him so well, she knew in advance what he’d been thinking. She’s incredible. He nods and sighs. He doesn’t care if he’s blushing.

“I’m sorry”

She frowns and pins him with a pointed look: “For what? Ash, didn’t you say the guy tried to use the fact that you were hard for him against you? Didn’t you just say that you told him being hard for him doesn’t mean you don’t love me?”

“Yes, I know! I mean, that’s exactly what I’ve said, and I think it, too. I mean, look. I’m just embarrassed I guess. It’s… I don’t know. If you catch me watching porn and I’m hard, I guess I’d feel the same way, you know”

“Because it wasn’t for me?” Olivia asks. She smiles in a cute, fond way. Asher blushes, and nods. He smiles back at her. He knows how stupid he sounds, but he doesn’t care. He’s so glad he can just tell her. lift this off his chest.

Olivia laughs briefly: “Ash, the only thing I’m sorry for, is that I can’t help you with that”

Asher snorts: “Yeah, don’t worry, it’s long gone. I’m absolutely not into being choked and kidnapped and risking my life”

Olivia laughs at that, actually bursts out laughing and throws her head back: “Oh, I know that! I just can’t believe this Rajid guy thinks he can have another chance with you after he’s done all of that to you. He so does not know you”

“Right?!” Asher exclaims, smiling.

Olivia chuckles some more.

“Seriously though” she sobers up: “what is your plan if he comes back? Actually, a guy like that is very likely to come back to you”

Asher sighs, and damn, that is starting to hurt.

“I don’t know. I think the best thing would be to just spend the rest of the vacation with just my mom and Tom, maybe on the yacht. No more parties, you know? I mean, it’s not like I’d miss it. People calling me Cher all the time…”

Olivia laughs at that.

“Do you still believe in love?” she mock-sings.

Asher glares at her, and she laughs more.

“Seriously, promise me you’ll be careful. Talk to your mom. Even to Tom. If he spends more time in town maybe he knows more this guy’s family. Maybe he can tell you something useful. Worst case scenario the yacht idea doesn’t sound that bad”

Asher promises. They talk about other things after that, Asher still trying as always to get her to tell him what’s wrong. She mentions that Spencer’s injury still give shim problem, and he grimaces in solidarity. That sucks. He tells her he wishes Spencer’s career isn’t fucked because of that. She nods, agreeing.

She deliberately asks him to change the topic, and so Asher does. He tells her about the staff at the villa, his newest acquaintances. She tells him about her afternoon with Layla at the beach. They spend twenty minutes arguing over which water is better, if the ocean in California or the Mediterranean Sea.

Not long after that Asher is starting to feel too tired to stay on the call, and Olivia can see that. She softly tells him to just go to sleep and makes him promise to call her in the evening, or whenever he wants. She insists that he be careful with his new stalker. Asher promises.

“I love you” he tells her.

She smiles, adorable and cute as always, with her eyes full of a sadness whose origin Asher cannot pinpoint: “I love you too” she says.

And they close the call.


	4. Hold onto fantasies, not promises

Asher is back in his room. Not the guest room on the ground floor where he’s spent the night, but the other one, where he was sleeping before. His bags have once again been packed without him knowing and again have been moved by whoever member of the staff. All without Ash even having to lift (or being able to) a thing.

The house doctor, Mr. Kouhmen, declares that Asher can walk up and down the stairs, as long as he promises to only do so twice. In this way he can move, but still paying attention to his recovering body. Ash promises he will walk slowly, too, and is sort of forced into accepting Thomas being reassigned from gardening into being his full time helper. Thomas joked that as a promotion he wasn’t sure if caretaker of the elders and injured counted. Asher has tried to shove him after that, but the guy is pretty built and Asher still has ribs to watch out for, so.

Thomas has left, once Asher has declared he planned to shower. The young man has happily agreed to leave and let Ash shower in peace, alone, looking frankly relieved to spare himself the sight of a naked Ash a second time. He’s left repeatedly stressing that Asher just calls him if he needs anything.

Asher has promised and swore, and then chased Thomas out of the goddamn door with sort-of-joking insults, and he’s now enjoying the pleasure of showering alone, without a (benevolent) vulture watching his every movement behind his back. He’s free to scratch his ass, drink the water and spit it out like a child, or even slide a hand down his naked chest and touch himself.

The last being his first priority, admittedly.

He closes his eyes, bites on his lower lip. One hand slides further down and fondles his balls, slow and lazy, just like he likes to start. He wraps the other around his dick and starts to stroke with pumping movement. His arousal grows, and so does his cock, filling up more and more of Asher’s hand. He keeps the pace slow, strokes rhythmically and uses a finger to spread the precum gathering at the top down the shaft. 

He likes it soft and slow, likes to feel his own body wake up under his own hands. He likes to savor his partner's body, too, but, well, right now he is his own partner. He smiles lazily to himself: Liv was right, Rajid couldn't have gone any farther from what Asher likes, the way he was being all territorial and aggressive and shit. 

Ash strokes and strokes and - god, he knows many guys like this, but, he rightfully loves it. Adores it, even. He's pretty sure he's one of those who spent more time in their pre-teen years furiously learning how his new body worked. His head falls back, he follows the movement, chin up, lips opening slightly, breath itching. He closes his eyes and tries to envision the picture he'd give to anybody walking in right now. Anybody interested, that is.

He knows he's hot. He isn't particularly tall but he isn't short, and he has a nice body, well built, muscles sculpted and well defined. He's got long legs and a nice ass, nice arms and a pretty face. God, if only Rajid was a nice guy instead of the madman he turned out to be. And if only Asher was single, too. He would enjoy this so much more, imagine Rajid turning up and slipping in the shower with him. That asshole must be ripped under his clothes. Asher bites his lip, thinking what he could do with the display of glory that Rajid's naked body must be. Thinking Rajid pushing him up against the wall of the shower, face front, pressing himself against Asher's back. 

He moans. He doesn't need Rajid for this fantasy to work - any big man does the trick. Someone with strong hands grabbing at his hips, keeping him bent forward against the cold tiles, but also pushing his hips back, his ass pressed against a hard dick. Oh god, a big man rubbing his dick against his ass, he thinks, a big man spreading his cheeks open and sliding his dick in between. One of those strong hands sliding forward and taking hold of Asher's cock. stroking with intent, making Asher moan in abandon, head tipped back on a bulky shoulder. A strong body behind him that Asher can lean against. The other hand sliding up and pinching his nipple, then further up, to his mouth. Fingers that slips inside his open, panting mouth and press down on his tongue. 

The orgasm hits Asher so hard he's almost startled by it. He barely has the time to shut his mouth close, teeth clicking. He comes so hard his vision almost blackens out for a moment. 

Jesus. His eyes have rolled back so hard he's surprised he hasn't seen the back of his head.

He slumps forwards, uses an arm to brace himself against the tile. The cold bites at his warm skin and he hisses at first contact. He leans on that arm, on the all, perfectly aware that it's the only thing keeping him standing. 

Wow, he thinks. This was some serious, new development. Rajid or not, he figures this definitely proves the attraction he feels for his own gender. It's not possible otherwise, for him to come so hard - he actually almost does not remember when it was the last time he's felt this amount of pleasure with Olivia. Although he knows he has. 

He sighs and closes his eyes. Great, now he feels guilty again. Absolutely great.

Because he's come for someone who's totally not her. Because he's thought, even a little bit, about Rajid. And because he's indulging in fantasies that he's got no chance to ever make real with her. 

He glares at his feet, where the water is swirling, along with traces of his spunk. 

Is it bad, if he's got fantasies that don't involve her? 

And why the hell has he thought about Rajid, even a little bit.

He grits his teeth together and finishes washing quickly, with brusque movements that are almost a way to punish his body.

He doesn't want to think about it.

-o-

Of course he can't avoid thinking about it.

The implications of that fantasy sit heavy on his chest. 

Is he gay, is he bi?

Will he be a repressed, unhappy man, if he doesn't act on them? Does he have to, is he obliged to at least try? Does it owe it to himself, or, even, ethics? 

Should he ask someone? Should he tell Liv? She already knows he might be bi. But this is, like, absolute proof. This isn't getting hard in a car with a guy. This is more. Or have they already covered this when Olivia told him he's not responsible for his sexual fantasies, he's entitled to have them, and loving her and having - they don't exclude each other?

He spends a long time wondering, wondering, wondering. He goes for lunch with Tom and his mom, engages both in a polite conversation. Tom doesn't know much about football and he often forgets the most basic things Asher tells him, like, everyday. He doesn't care, he doesn't mind repeating. His mom likes to make fun of Tom for forgetting. 

Asher laughs, pretending he's not trying to think about the biggest self-identity crisis he's had since he has memory. He thinks he's doing a pretty decent job at not showing it. 

Of course, until the biggest reminder of such aforementioned crisis shows up early that afternoon. 

Tom has left right after lunch, leaving Asher and his mother to spend the afternoon between lazy chatting and reading books. They're enjoying the warmth of the day, safe in the shade of the upper balcony shielding them from the aggressive sun, when a flustered Monsier Leaudeville appears, wearing a scowl so deep Asher immediately wonders if he's done something wrong.

'Guilty conscience much, Ash?' he asks himself.

"Monsier Leaudeville" Asher's mom greets the man, straightening up in her chair: "What are you doing here? Is everything okay by the gates?"

Monsier Leaudeville isn't young and, from what Asher has understood, he's your typical French man around sixty, who would rather lose a limb than moving anywhere under the hot, scorching afternoon sun of a summer day in this area. If he's left his quarters to come here personally - and he looks like he's walked all the way, then something bad must have happened.

It's enough to set off an alarm in Asher's brain.

Monsieur Leaudeville explains there is a visitor at the gate, insisting to see Asher. The porter has apparently done everything he could to try and dissuade him, but in vain. Not even outrightly lying about Ash not being here has worked, and now the visitor insists Asher receives him.

A cold shiver runs down Asher's back when he hears Monsieur Leaudeville using the pronoun for the first time.

He hopes it's not Rajid.

Of course it's Rajid.

Asher pales in panic for just a moment. He notices the way his mother's knuckles turn white, as she tightens her grasp on the arms of her chair. He swallows, thinking. Rajid is dangerous, and a pissed off Rajid is as dangerous as imprevisible. It would be wiser not to enrage him any further. The portner trying to send him away must have already pissed him enough. So Asher has to meet him.

He meets his mother's eyes and thinks. He could have Rajid come here, meet him here. He could ask his mother to stay. But Rajid wouldn't be above embarrassing Asher in front of his mother, if only to push her to leave them alone. 

Plus he doesn't want Rajid to gather any insight on how Tom's villa looks, inside. God knows this guy could come here and kidnap Asher as they sleep.

He turns to Monsieur Leaudeville: "Is there a place where I could meet him, where he wouldn't have to cross half the property and see all our security system?" he asks.

His mother stops the old man before he can reply: "No Ash, don't meet him. Do not let him close to you. This man is crazy. We should just send him way and call the police"

Asher shares a look with the portner. The old man tightens his lips together and shakes his head.

"Madame, the police wouldn't do anything, and sending him away would not be prudent"

Asher's mother insists: "But we can't let him in!" she points out, and really, Asher agrees with her.

He sighs and rolls his eyes.

"I'll meet him at the gate" he decides.

That's how Asher finds himself walking all the way to the front door, with Thomas helping him, and from them on he walks the rest of the way by himself. Monsieur Leaudeville has told him which path to follow, a nice one completely in the shades. it's supposed to be a short cut too, but Asher ends up needing double the time the old man had, given that he's sort of limping.

His mother is probably already talking to Tom, he bets. She protested another few times against Asher meeting Rajid, but in the end let her son do what he decided. Asher hopes Tom is talking to his lawyer right now. Or her mother's lawyer. Or even the Adams' one. Anyone. 

He focuses on keeping his breath regular and on walking slow. He knows Rajid will notice his discomfort in doing so, but, well, there is little he can do about it, right? After all Rajid knows fully well the extension of the pain Asher is in, given that he's the one who hit him. But at least Asher won't give him the satisfaction of seeing him out of breath and showing that pain. 

God knows Rajid would only gloat at that.

When Asher finally reaches the gate, Rajid is sitting on the hood of his car. Arms crossed over his chest, legs splayed in front of him, ankles crossed. He's dressed in clothes that scream how expensive they are and he's smiling his asshole, charming smile. Despite the smile, his eyes speak loudly about how little he's appreciated being left here to wait, for a time he obviously deems too much. 

Asher doesn't give a damn.

He tries not to focus on how long those legs are, how bulky the biceps, or the muscles of his chest and thighs.

He feels a new rush of guilt and really wishes he could slap himself.

He stops at a safe distance from the gate. There is nothing he can lean or sit on, so he's left standing. He pushes his hip out and pushes his nails against the meat of his hands to keep from hugging his hurting side. He's close enough that he can hear and talk to Rajid, but far enough he won't manage to touch him even if he lashes an arm through the gate: a safe compromise between his own safety and the need not to instigate the madman he's got to talk to.

Asher hides behind his calmest expression, between bored and annoyed. His best working pokerface.

"What do you want" he says.

It's not really a question, the way he's pronounced, and he knows it doesn't sound aggressive but it's not polite either. He doesn't care about being polite with Rajid, but, he shouldn't sound aggressive either.

'God knows he'd take it as a challenge, or a sign I'm afraid of him'

Rajid snorts and smirks. It does something to his face and makes it look even prettier. Asher really hates him for that. Couldn't he look just as horrible as he is inside? 

Cue in a fresh rush of guilt for the fantasies he's indulged in the shower.

"Hello to you, too, Cher, I have missed you"

"Sorry to hear that. I haven't"

Rajid laughs, looking amused. His eyes are a thunderous shade of black, though, full of a threat that he doesn't bother to hide. Asher is sure that if they were any closer that comment would have gotten another choking attempt because of the 'disrespect'.

"You're funny, Cher. I'll give you that"

Which translates in 'but now quit it', in the language Rajid speaks.

Asher swallows. As much as he just wants to tell him to fuck himself and leave, he's got to play this one better. 

"Why are you here, Rajid?" he asks, phrasing it better now. 

Rajid seems to appreciate the slightly more domesticated tone. he smiles and pushes his hips forwards, standing up from his car. Asher tries really hard to ignore the way that looks almost elegant, and the way the smooth movement makes Rajid's muscles flex. 

Asher really should stop wishing for things he could still not have, not even if Rajid wasn't the psycho he is.

Okay fine, that's just wishful thinking. He really wants that. He wants Rajid not to be a psycho, and Oliv to be okay with Asher just trying this once out. He wants someone like Rajid to press him against the hood of the car, push his clothes out of the way and make out with him right then and there. Maybe it's hormones. Maybe it's the summertime. Maybe it's the lack of sleep, or his brain liking that joke Liv has made about watching Asher make out with another dude. 

Whatever it is, Asher tries to ignore it all and prays that it doesn't show under his poker face.

Rajid doesn't look like he's noticed, and that's a small mercy Asher wasn't counting on. He sobers up, eyes looking straight into Asher's, and that expression he's got that makes him look like a maniac is back.

"You promised me a second chance, Cher. I'm here for that"

This time it's Asher the one who snorts. He tilts his head to the side and smiles, despise clear on his face.

"If you really think I will step one inc closer to you, then you are out of your goddamn mind" he promises.

Rajid obviously does not like the answer. But he doesn't spit his usual shit about Asher disrespecting him or anything, he doesn't even turn on the charm again to try and bring Asher to his side with honey rather than vinegar. He keeps on that calm face, looking like he's struggling against the urge to shout.

Asher takes both as good signs. It means Rajid feels at disadvantage. And Asher is good at playing this game with no shout and a poker-face. Rajid trying to stay calm is Rajid playing a game Asher aces at.

"Asher. You promised me that you would give me a second chance. If you don't go out with me, you will be breaking that promise. And nobody breaks a promise they've made to me" Rajid replies, the threat clear.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you threatening me? I don't see why I should go out with someone who first hits me and then threatens me. I don't care about any promise, Rajid, you are doing all the things you should do if you did not want me to go out with you"

Rajid almost growls at that.

"Asher, you break your promise, and I can't promise you in turn that nothing bad will happen. Not to you, Cher. But to your people. Maybe the Colemans. Maybe someone working in that nice villa up there"

Rajid takes a step closer. He has lowered his voice but Asher has heard every word. He swallows down fear (and whatever his fucking body feels at seeing Rajid's body moving like a fucking predator - bite me, take me, use me - no. Brain, just don't), and glares.

"You can keep your threats for yourself, Rajid. If something happens to me, or my family, or my friends. Or to someone of the staff. Then we will simply sue you" he replies.

Calm and cool. And not specifying whether the 'we' is him, his mother or Tom. 

Rajid smirks, which Asher does not like.

"You think you'd be the first to try? Do you think you would stand a chance? Nobody wins against my family in court, Cher. Not here"

Asher lets his mask of cool and composure slips a tad: he takes a step closer and intensifies the glaring.

"You know what, I think it's you the one who doesn't understand who you're talking to. You don't know my family. The Adams have buried bigger fishes than you or your family, Rajid. Bigger than some mob boss who tyrannizes backwater cities, like a Godfather wannabe"

Rajid smiles in reply. His eyes are still flashing dark and angry, but that smile looks too self-confident for Asher's taste, and he knows better than to call it a victory already.

"Really. Then Cher, tell me. Could your family resuscitate people? Because, you don't go out with me, Cher, and I can't promise a fire won't burn this nice place down. With whoever people might be inside"

The blow lands.

Asher's breath itches and Rajid hears it. He can't do anything about it - he's lost. Rajid has simply turned the table, no longer playing nice and fair. This here? This is a field Asher has never played in. This is criminal talking. Asher doesn't have any experience with this. And before he starts wondering what would Spencer James do (the guy is not Jesus, for fuck's sake), he just scowls.

Rajid's face opens in a beautiful smile of victory.

And Asher would love to claw it away, but he can't.

"So, Cher. As I was saying" Rajid says, drawling, smug: "go out with me. Tonight"

Asher doesn't reply. He doesn't refuse either.

"There is a party" Rajid goes on, noticing that Asher hasn't said no: "Jacques will tell you the details. He can take you there. There will be plenty of people for you to feel comfortable around me" he adds, smirking.

It's half a joke and half a way to rile Asher up. They both know that a party full of people that are all friends with Rajid or otherwise fear him is not a party where Asher will feel safe. Nobody will come to Asher's rescue if he needs help.

Asher really wishes he could insult him - at least a little bit. But the threat of putting fire to the villa scares him. Would Rajid really go as far as to commit arson just because Asher refused to go out with him?

This is the moment he decides he, or his mother or Tom - someone has to start legal action against Rajid. Because, if this is what is at stake, then it's obvious that Rajid isn't just aiming at seducing Asher as the new hot thing in town. He won't settle for a make out session, something that Asher can, worst case scenario, talk himself into doing. And then bleach himself clean after. No, Rajid is doing this because he plans on fucking him. And, despite his fantasies, Asher will never sleep with him. And he doesn't plan on going along with a plan that entails him being raped.

He swallows and nods, because for now he doesn't have alternatives.

"I'll be there" he says, a promise. He spits the words out as if they were poison. 

He turns on his tail and starts walking his way back, keeping his pace slow, ignoring Rajid's every attempt to call him, ignoring the way he laughs, every word he says.


	5. The Narcissistic Bitch my heart is

Despite being still pretty pissed with both the Colemans twins, Asher’s got to hand it to them: they know how to party.

Or, well. This isn’t exactly their party, so, let’s just say, they know which party are cool enough to attend. Then again, Rajid probably ordered (told?) Jacques to do it, so. Asher isn’t really sure it counts.

He wonders if Jacques is actually capable of free will or if it’s all gone since he’s met Rajid.

Asher could probably admit that yes, the guy is hot, but he would never let himself go as far as to fall for a complete bastard like that. The guy in question is serious psycho matter, like, call in the asylum staff and have them send a car over to take him away. He should be locked up. Asher wonders if asylums even exist in nowadays France. He promises himself to investigate.

Not that he can investigate much, at the current state of things.

He’s had a couple of drinks, despite the doctor at Tom’s villa suggesting that Asher stays away from alcohol. It’s not that Ash intentionally disrespected the recommendation, it’s more that he’s enough of an alcoholic that he kind of ended up doing it anyway, before he realized it. He was already down one vodka shot, at least, before he thought about it.

But, you know what, better to drink this night away, anyway. Well, not too much: soon or later Mr. Psycho will show up, and Asher would like to be sober for that confrontation. He doesn’t need to give Rajid any further ammo against him, and have him find him drunk. Drunk enough to forget how much bad news Rajid is.

But the alcohol is a welcomed ally, right now. Marion sticks to Asher’s side, has practically glued herself to him, but she never even makes eye contact with him. Which is the weirdest thing. She looks permanently bored and like she’d love to be anywhere else. She eyes the crowd in the room with a longing sight and Asher frankly has to physically keep himself from slapping her.

What a bitch. She stays this close only because she’s following Rajid’s orders, Asher is sure. He’d rather she left. Her brother isn’t much better, either. Jacques has glued himself to Asher’s other side, mirroring his twin sister, and now Ash is kind of bracketed among the Colemans twins. Someone has noticed and cracked a joke about Ash being a lucky bastard.

“It’s not him being lucky, love, you’re just too low for me” Jacques has candidly dismissed the comment, eyes rolling heavenward and promptly turning his shoulders to the speaker.

Asher was mid-sip and has almost ended up wasting good vodka at that.

Thank god at least Jacques is a snarky, sarcastic little shit. It’s way less painfully embarrassing to be close to him than his sister. At some point Asher forces him to engage a conversation, bringing up whatever crazy topic they can use for a conversation. Jacques enthusiastically follows the lead and dives onto that. They don’t mention the obvious elephant in the room – that is, Rajid’s absence.

Jacques is like a freak on the loose, a dog unleashed. He has snarky comments for just about anyone in the room, and Asher can’t help it, even the meanest things the French, cute boy says are so damn funny. Okay, it might also be the vodka speaking, but it’s definitely still half the case. He wonders what would happen if he’d put Jacques and Liv in a room.

Thinking of Liv kind of dampens his mood and thwarts his smile. Jacques, still mid-joke, notices. Asher glares under his forced cheerful expression.

As if to say, you’re not my friend. You’re not here for me. Don’t pretend you really want to know what goes on with me.

Jacques gets it. He blushes slightly but goes dutifully on.

Asher is half mad and half impressed. This guy is really dead-set on following Rajid’s instructions – that is, keep Asher company, possibly amuse him.

And then a shadow creeps up from behind Asher. Someone just approached him and Jacques. Judging from the way the tall figure looms over Ash and the way Jacques’ eyes have gone completely wide, it must be Rajid.

“Cher” a deep, rumbling voice says, and fuck it if no, it’s not the vodka, that makes Asher’s knees tremble and his stomach drop. He grits his teeth and focuses on the way Jacques is all but melting in front of him. He ignores Rajid, deciding it is for now better to do so.

He’s gotta be sure he won’t do anything stupid if (when) he turns around.

Jacques meets his eyes, lowering from Rajid’s ones. He swallows, and Ash catches the guilty expression flashing up his face.

His own expression hardens. His grip around his drink tightens. He tells himself he will not slam the glass on Jacques’ face. Or Rajid’s.

He breathes through his nose. Jacques looks once again up to Rajid, and nods. Then he turns tail and leaves so fast Asher almost bursts out laughing. But he doesn’t. he just looks at him, following his disappearing figure, until he can’t distinguish him anymore from the throng of bodies dancing in the middle of the room.

Behind him, a low chuckle, and the heat of a chest pressed close against his back.

Ash almost gasps, and bites his lower lip. Strong hands grasp his hips and hold him in place, dragging him back against that muscled chest. Asher leans back on it, because what’s the point of resisting now. One of the hand leaves his hip and travels towards his middle, and up. Caressing his abs and pecs. Fingers lightly pinching a nipple.

Asher grits his teeth together. He can’t help the way his head fall back against Rajid’s chest.

“Hi, Cher. Missed me?” a deep voice murmurs in the shell of Asher’s ear.

He forces himself to breathe. He struggles to remember that this is a psychotic bastard and a criminal. Someone who had no qualms beating him up a bloody mess.

Oh boy, why is this all working against him?

Rajid chuckles, right behind his ear, the noise going straight to Asher’s dick. The same dick that’s filling up and starting to show really well from under his jeans.

“I’ll take it as a yes” Rajid comments.

Asher spins around, glaring up at him, and wrenches himself out of his grasp.

Rajid doesn’t care. He just smirks.

And god, honestly. Why does he have to have this fucking gorgeous face.

Looking straight into Rajid’s face makes resisting him even harder – and coincidentally, it also makes Asher harder.

He swallows.

“Hi Rajid” he says, settling for a normal tone of voice. He goes for unaffected, but he comes up too docile for his taste.

Rajid smiles. He likes that tone. He likes seeing the power and the effect he is having on Ash. But he also reaches forward and takes hold of his glass, bringing it away from him and depositing on a nearby table.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink. Why don’t we go out to get some fresh air in you” he suggests.

Asher can’t help it, he just snorts a chuckle.

“Do you think I’m that easy?” he asks, incredulous: “do you think I’d just follow you anywhere?”

Rajid laughs, amused, but his eyes are thunderous. He doesn’t like being challenged.

“I think you like to fool yourself into thinking you wouldn’t, Cher, but the way you were responding to my touch a moment ago tells me a different story”

He pushes into Asher’s space, effectively sandwiching him between the wall and his chest. Asher can’t stop the gasp, or his eyes from staring wide at Rajid’s pecs. When he looks up again, Rajid is smirking at him, and bends down to his ear.

“We both know I could fuck you right here and now, and you’d let me. You’d ever thank me for it”

Asher wishes he could say he didn’t tremble at that, but he does. He gasps softly, closes his eyes, slams his hands against the wall at his back. He tries to control his breathing but it isn’t easy, with the way Rajid is pressing up against his front, sliding a strong tight between Asher’s and using it to excite him further.

He feels Rajid move towards his face and turns, bending his to the side. He’s breathing through parted lips and doesn’t want Rajid to try and kiss him. But this leaves the side of his neck exposed – and Rajid attacks there.

Strong hands close harshly against Asher’s chest, forcing him into Rajid’s embrace. He leaves his arms limp, hands still trying to touch the wall, his fingers spasm at the first swipe of Rajid’s tongue against his overheated skin. Rajid bites at his neck and nibbles, and Asher arches against his will. He moans softly, and his hands fly on Rajid’s shoulders before he can stop them.

Rajid raises his head and Asher meets unintentionally meets his eyes. The hunger in them is pretty obvious, and so is the lust that must be written on his own face, he is sure. Rajid moves forward again, but he doesn’t try to kiss him, instead going again for his jaw, and nibbling right under it. He pushes his tight against Asher’s front, making him gasp again. He goes on, sucking and biting, hands groping at him and pushing Ash even closer. Forcing him to grind against his leg.

Asher grits his teeth and tries to push away with his hands, but there’s no room, and the friction Rajid is giving him is so delicious, and he suddenly feels so close….

He moans and blinks his eyes open in a second. Suddenly, he remembers. He looks up into Rajid’s eyes, dark and demanding and not even bothering hiding the cruelty. He knows Rajid would hit him again, if he felt like it. He would break his bones and then jump him. And it scares Asher how, even knowing this, his body still reacts to the physical stimulation Rajid provides him.

His breath hitches, and he tries again to push Rajid away, hips moving desperately against Rajid’s tight – he doesn’t want to come, he doesn’t want to come, oh god, oh god, oh god this is so good, why is this so good, oh god Liv, Liv, Liv…

Rajid takes a step back.

Asher’s lungs take in air like bellows, and he almost chokes as he gulps it down.

Rajid has moved his hips away from Asher but hasn’t left. Instead, he tucks Ash close to his chest and cradles him, forcing him to lean his cheek on his pecs. Asher does it. He’s too busy trying to breathe.

He’s almost come.

Jesus. He’s almost come, because this fucking madman, this psycho, this criminal has slipped something hard between his legs and given him something to rut against.

Shame and anger bloom in his chest and enflame his cheeks.

Then Rajid leaves him, takes a step back.

His hands are still holding Asher’s hips, but his arms are relaxed, allowing some distance between the two of them.

“You’d be a slut for me, Cher. Don’t forget it. Nobody can give it to you like I can” he murmurs.

Asher glares, and blushes more, in rage and shame and embarrassment, and also in fear that it might be true. Partially, at least.

He swallows.

He thinks about anything smart he can reply to that, and comes up empty handed. Rajid must like it, because he smirks, satisfied, and lets him go.

“Come on, let’s get out of here” he repeats.

Asher shakes his head, eyes cold: “No” he refuses.

Rajid freezes and pins him with a hard stare.

“Cher, you have promised me” he warns him.

“And you have just molested me” Asher replies hotly: “If you think I will follow you anywhere..-”

A hand closes around his throat and stops him.

Yeah, in hindsight he should have seen this coming.

He struggles to breathe, while Rajid bends down again, close to his ear.

“You have promised me, and you will keep your promise. I will not touch you again, you have my word”

The hand still holds him, but the fingers open to let air through.

Asher moves the little he can and glares at the older man: “How can I believe you. You say that while you’re choking me” he points out, angry.

Rajid holds his stare for a few long second, then he relaxes his grip and lets him go.

“Come with me” he repeats.

Asher wants to say no. he wants to go home, call Liv, and tell her what happened. He wants her to tell him it’s okay and that he isn’t some twisted slut just because he apparently enjoys it rough and with people of his own gender and who clearly are not her, his girlfriend. The only one who should be touching him.

He can feel the tears start to swell in his eyes.

He doesn’t want Rajid to see them.

Still massaging his abused throat, he swallows, nods, and accepts.

“Okay” he croaks.

Rajid just nods, grabs one of Asher’s hands and drags him away, out of the place.

-o-

Rajid takes him to his car, the same sports car he was driving the last time. Asher gets in without barely sparing it a second glance. And this is a cool car, anyway, the kind he would normally, totally make heart eyes at. 

He finds it a little bit difficult to enjoy its beauty knowing it belongs to the guy who assaulted him a few minutes ago and heated him up the night before. Talking about things that thwarts perspectives, right?

Rajid opened the door for him, waited till Ash was seated inside before closing it. He's driving at normal speed, no psycho move, no obsessive staring Asher's way. Nothing. Normal, like Ash knows too well this guy isn't. 

A crazy part of Asher's brain right now is trying not to cry. Why can't things be different. Why can't he be single, and Rajid a normal person. He almost snorts right after that thought. He's pathetic and a complete idiot. What the fuck is he doing. Seriously, what the fuck. He should just call the damn police and leave. And go back to America. He can spend time with his mom also in sweet old Cali, can't he? Or they can go just somewhere else, closer, away from psychos who want to bone Ash and fuck him into tomorrow.

But that's exactly what Asher shouldn't have thought because, oh God, now he's thinking about said fucker, fucking him into tomorrow. 

The bastard will probably have a big dick too. Ash isn't sure he's felt it when Rajid was rubbing him off. But an asshole like Rajid is all big and bulky, he's got to have a big dick too. Ash is sure he'd use it to hurt him with that as well, right like he's done with pretty much every other part of his body. Turned it into an offence weapon. Asher does so not want to lose his backside virginity to that. Rajid would probably ruin gay sex for Ash forever.

...Or he'd be really good, and ease Ash into it, instead of splitting him open. Just to have Ash begging and pleading for it. 

Like the real slut he's probably turning into, uh? What the fuck, brain. What. The. Fuck.

Beside him, Rajid chuckles.

"Cher, you think any harder, I'm going to hear your thoughts"

Ash whips his head to the side. Rajid meets his eyes briefly, before focusing again on the street. Asher looks at the side of his fucking, beautifully chiselled face. 

"What do you mean" he blurts out. 

Rajid shrugs and throws him a condescending smile.

"You're ashamed. You're angry with yourself because I almost made you come. But Cher, you shouldn't beat yourself for that. Your body wants me, I've already told you that"

Asher grits his teeth so hard he's pretty sure the fucker hears the sound they make. 

Rajid smirks and shakes his head: "I told you, love. Nobody can fuck you like I will. But, you're right. I shouldn't have done that. It was too early. And now you're spooked"

Asher stares at him silently for a while, then he can't resist anymore.

"Are you seriously not even going to apologise for molesting me?" he asks, incredulous.

Rajid laughs: "It isn't molestation if you like it, Cher. Had I kept touching you, you would've begged me to come. You know how close you were. And you made such a pretty picture too, you know? I was really tempted. To get you off like that, in the middle of a crowd. But you're too precious, Cher. When I make you come, nobody is going to get to see that"

Asher seriously doesn't know what to say, think, and do. What is he supposed to - how should he even react? This guy is so full of himself he doesn't even realize what he's saying.

"Rajid, you know that I will never let you fuck me, right?"

Okay, probably he shouldn't have said that. But given that Rajid only glares at him and isn't choking him yet, then probably it wasn't that bad an idea. Or Rajid did not consider it like stepping over the line too much. Yet.

"Of course you will" he replies stubbornly.

Asher smirks angrily: "Rajid, I will never let you fuck me. Which means that the only chance you have to fuck me, is if you rape me. And no, I will not be begging you to rape me"

Rajid glares: "I don't know if you're in denial or if this is again the disrespect thing you've got going"

Asher opens his mouth but doesn't really know what to answer, because, seriously? He laughs in utter disbelief and throws his hands in the air.

"Wow. You're even more of a basket case than I've thought"

And this is when the hand lashes out - but not to choke him though. Rajid just grabs one of his wrist and uses it to drag Asher a little closer. He turns and looks straight into his eyes, and thank goodness they're at a red traffic light.

"I'm not a raper, Cher. You want me. You will beg for my dick. You just don't want to admit it. And you're lucky that you're more than just pretty, or I wouldn't waste my time with your antics. You are lucky, because I'd rather wait till you're ready to see that truth, instead of just slipping something into your drink and make you spread your legs for me right now"

Asher gapes.

He's afraid, yes, of course, but, yeah.

He's bristling with rage.

"Did you just say you'd drug me and then assault me?!" he almost shouts.

"No, I would drug you and then you'd be begging me to fuck you. There's a lot of people who would do that, Cher. You're lucky I am a good guy and I put up with your shit instead of just cutting it short and do just that"

Rajid lets go of his writs right after that, settling back to driving. He looks again at the road in front of them and seems completely absorbed by that.

Asher just stares at him, speechless.

"Do you even believe that?" he asks, curious.

Rajid throws a glance at him, then another, longer: "Cher, I don't think you've understood what is the world you're in, right now" he says in lieu of answer, and, Jesus, doesn't that sound ominous.

Asher swallows.

"In the normal one. In mine. I don't know what you think, but-"

Rajid interrupts him again, this time by simply laughing. 

"Oh Cher, if that's what you think then I understand why it's so difficult for you to get it"

Asher doesn't reply.

Rajid turns and wiggles his eyes at him.

"You're in my world now, baby. You've been walking in it since the day Jacques Coleman introduced you to me"

Asher frowns.

"You're crazy" he murmurs.

He should get out of the car. He should really get out of the car.

Rajid smiles at him, tilting his head to the side and giving him this patronizing look that Asher really can't stand.

"You're adorable. In denial, and about way too many things, but adorable"

Asher grits his teeth and doesn't reply. He doesn't know what to say.

"Come on now, let's talk about something else" Rajid decides, and starts asking him about, of all things, football.

Asher's eyes go crazy wide, wondering how he is expected to just ignore their previous, barely concluded conversation (barely concluded and terrifyingly scaring), and talk about football. But he does, automatically, start to answer Rajid's questions. And after a while he realizes they're actually having a conversation, about football, which is one of the things Asher loves the most.

Rajid smiles at him the whole time, asking question after question. Sometimes it's painfully obvious he doesn't have any idea how this sport is played. When Asher points it out he just laughs.

"Europe is the land of soccer, Cher" he explains.

And Asher kind of gets it.

Rajid stops the car near a beach. Asher follows him out in silence. His shoulders are tense again. There are people not too far in the distance,but the beach is otherwise deserted. Foldable chairs and beach umbrellas closed for the night, lined up along a good portion of the coast. The darkness is dimmed out by some of the light coming from the street, but it isn't much. 

Everything screams like it's a bad, very bad idea to follow where Rajid is leading, but Asher doesn't have a real alternative, does he. He walks quietly behind him, eyes glued on the sand where his feet land. He focuses on not getting too much sand in his shoes.

It's going to make running away from a dangerous madman even more difficult.

Although that's not really his biggest problem, is it.

Rajid stops and jumps on the first rock of the low cliff. He sits there, splaying his legs open and smiles invitingly at Asher to join him. 

"Come Cher, have a seat"

Asher swallows. He's not going to sit between Rajid's legs. He settles for a spot close to him, facing him. Rajid chuckles at that and rolls his eyes heavenward, in exasperation. Then he reaches for Asher's wrists and drags him against his chest, effectively aligning Asher's back with his front. And depositing Asher in his lap.

"Look. That's why we are here" Rajid explains, pointing one finger towards the distance.

Where the sea and the city encounter, and it's really, really beautiful to see.

"Oh" Asher murmurs.

Rajid snorts: "Yep. Oh. I'm not going to jump you Cher, I swear. Let's just go on talking, okay? And look. This is one of my favorite spots. It's pretty, isn't it?"

Asher swallows. Rajid's body is hot and firm. Strong and threatening. But also very still. He doesn't move. And yes, the view is admittedly beautiful.

"Yeah, it is" he agrees.

"So, back to what you said. I still don't get why you can't say that football is some kind of rugby" Rajid says, more to change the topic than because he's really interested.

Although that can have to do with him liking the way Asher lights up and gets really into the discussion, too. Ash can't help him, football is his passion after all, and he can't keep emotions from seeping through his expression. He knows Rajid is baiting him all the times he provokes him with this or that question. But he can't help it. 

Rajid knows. That's what a manipulative asshole would do: find something you like to talk about and use it against you.

Asher knows, and he's letting him do it. And he can't stop it.

After more than an hour Rajid caresses his hips, bends to kiss the back of Asher's ear.

"We have to go, Cher. Let me drive you home" he says.

Asher just nods.

And realizes that for the past hour he's forgotten how dangerous the man he was discussing football really it.

He is so, so fucked.

-o-

"I want to take you out for dinner" Rajid says, right when Asher opens the door of the car.

Asher frowns.

"No" he answers automatically. 

Rajid just snorts: "That's not an option, Cher. I'm not asking. I'm just telling you"

Asher grits his teeth: "I'm not coming"

"You almost did, actually" Rajid replies, smirking.

Asher's cheeks blow up immediately. He hates it. He hates himself more.

"Cher" Rajid repeats, his tone going condescending. He's doing this a lot, tonight. Asher knows why - it makes him sound reasonable. 

"Cher, let me take you out for dinner. I won't do anything, I promise. It'll be like today"

"With you molesting me, you mean?" Asher replies automatically.

Rajid smirks and wiggles his eyebrows: "Only if you will ask me to. I swear. Come on" he insists.

Asher swallows. He doesn't really have the leverage to tell him no, and then live up to that. He is kind of forced to do what the bastard wants - and the bastard knows.

He sighs.

"Okay" he accepts: "but this is going way too fast"

"I'll behave, I promise" Rajid assures him. The way he smirks promises Asher the opposite. He shivers. Not only in fear, and that is what makes him blush. And hate himself.

"Unless you'll want me not to" Rajid adds, winking.

"You've said that already" Asher robotically points out.

"I know, but I like to remind you. I really hope you'll think about before, tonight. Or, this morning. Anyway. When you're in your bed, touching yourself. Or in the shower"

Asher blushes more, but holds Rajid's look. That's how he knows that the other's eyes are going really dark, the pupils dilated.

"I hope you do it in the shower. So you can touch yourself better. Really let your hands roam. I'd love to see you naked, you know? You're so pretty. You've got a really nice body, Cher. I will enjoy fucking you so much"

Asher - fucking shudders.

Rajid smiles, predatory, his shark smiles, and leans forward.

"Have you ever touched yourself, Cher? Come on. Have you already had sex with your girl? Yes, haven't you?"

Asher grits his teeth and doesn't answer. But Rajid doesn't need an answer nor does he wait for one.

"But, what about your asshole, Cher? Have you ever touched yourself there? Slipped a finger inside, rubbed the pads of your fingers against your hole? How tight are you, love? I bet you're still crazy tight"

Rajid whispers straight to Asher's ear, and it shouldn't, but it makes him dizzy.

Also, it makes him feel hot and bothered and ashamed, it makes him think about all the time he's almost asked Layla, first, and Olivia, later, to touch him there, to stick a finger inside him. But he's never really even used his own, let alone voiced that crazy thought.

He swallows and struggles to breathe.

"Come on, Cher. Tell me. Have you ever had anything at all, inside you?" Rajid whispers, bending a little to look into Asher's eyes.

He looks so handsome, and hungry, and Asher wants to be eaten alive.

"No" he murmurs. He doesn't want to, but it slips past his lips before he can stop himself.

Rajid grins triumphantly.

"No? Never? Not even your fingers?" he asks.

Asher shakes his head. He can feel the blush spread.

"Oh Cher, then we have to do something about it. We wouldn't want my dick to split your pretty asshole open, would we?" Rajid murmurs, nibbling at his earlobe.

Asher shivers.

He should get out of the car. He should get out of the fucking car. He should not stay here, where Rajid whispers crazy dirty things in his ear that his cock finds particularly interesting.

He swallows.

Rajid chuckles, and the sound almost rips a whine out of Asher's throat - a sound that, thank god he manages to keep down.

"Oh Cher. I'm going to be slow with you, I swear. I'm going to be careful. I won't hurt you. I've hurt you enough already" he kisses Asher's jaw, nibbles it, and kisses all the way down to Asher's chin. He makes eye-contact and rubs the tip of his nose against Asher's.

"Will you do just one thing for me, Cher? Just one?" he asks, in a sweet voice. Asher doesn't want to nod, but he does.

What the fuck is happening. He feels completely enthralled.

"Finger yourself for me. Now. Get in your shower, naked, on your knees, and slip a finger in your asshole. I want you to do that. Will you do that for me, baby? Will you? You can put more, if you manage. And then next time I want you to tell me how it was. If it'd hurt. Okay?"

Asher breathes through his nose and grits his teeth.

He tries to summon rage but his brain is too foggy with lust, and he admittedly loves the idea of just jumping in the shower and do exactly what Rajid said. He wonders if it'll hurt. He wonders how many fingers he could take.

He swallows.

"And if it does, what difference will it make? Didn't you say you were going to fuck me anyway?" he asks, his angry tone sounding even more vicious, compared to the sickly sweet voice Rajid just used.

Rajid smirks, dropping the act: "It won't, Cher. A slut like you, I wouldn't be surprised if the first time you put something in that ass you can fit your entire hand" he replies, in a normal voice that sounds louder and makes his words sound cruder.

Asher's cheeks blush. Again, it's a fucked up mixture of anger, shame and lust.

He turns his back on Rajid and gets off the damned car, fully intending to slam the door on the bastard's face. Rajid, of course, stops him, closing an iron-like wrist around Asher's arm.

"Cher, I will come pick you up tomorrow evening. OKay?" he asks.

Asher sneers: "Not like I have a choice, right?"

Rajid lets him go and laughs, full and rich: "Damn right, Cher. You don't" he agrees.

Asher turns and leaves. He still hears the echo of Rajid's laughter even hours later, when he tries to fall asleep in bed.

-o-

Liv calls just about when Asher steps in his room. He sighs in relief, slides against the closed door and starts telling him what's happened. 

He doesn't leave details out. He starts crying at some point, in shame. Olivia just 'Oh, Ash'-es him, but doesn't sound mad. Asher wonders why. He's pretty sure she should be mad at him. He's almost made out with a guy, for fuck's sake. Yes, it's not another girl, okay, but. She's got to be jealous, right?

'Unless she loves you, but not that way' his traitorous brain whispers.

Asher pushes that down. He doesn't want to think about that. Not until he's back and they can talk about this. In person.

Liv tells him to pay attention. She seems fascinated with the idea of finding him a guy he can make out with in front of her, in Cali, and Ash doesn't know how much she's joking when she's saying it. She laughs and he does it as well, shrieking a wet, outraged sound when she requests details and demands to know how big the dick of a potential partner should be for Asher to like it. 

Then she sighs, and says, he's been honest with her, she should be honest with him.

Asher's stomach drops, but no, she doesn't tell him that she's leaving him, or that she's made out with Spencer. Thank god for small mercies.

But maybe it would have been better. Because Liv tells him that she's depressed, and that alcohol looks more and more a good idea, the best solution for her problems, every day a bit more. Asher hates himself for not being there with her. He tells her that. She tells him not to. Spencer is helping. 

Ash hates it, and he is jealous, but, well. That makes him pretty much a hypocrite, right? Plus, Spencer is good at people-ing. And he's good with Olivia. Probably better than Ash himself. So it's good that he's near her. He wonders what the fuck is Jordan doing, though.

"I mean, he's got his own problems, though. His arm is still bothering him a lot" she says.

Asher nods. Spencer's shot wound might have fucked his entire football career right before it started. What a pity, and what a waste.

They talk about that for a while, then she catches him almost dozing off on the line and laughs so hard she startles him awake. 

"Let me let you go to sleep, uh, Ash? I'll call you tomorrow" she says.

He makes her promise to write him if she feels the pull to drink. She promises. He can see her blush when she says, I might end up writing you much more often than you'd think. He frowns, and says that if she thinks she should be ashamed to ask him for help, she doesn't know him. 

She smiles. It's a beautiful smile. Ash wants to hug her close and make all her problems disappear.

They bid each other good night, and end the call.

Ash gets up, drops the phone on his bed. He feels gross to go to sleep like this, and he wants to shower. But, as he strips and heads for the bathroom, Rajid's words come up in his memory.

Asher swallows. He hesitates on the threshold of the bathroom. Maybe he shouldn't. Maybe he should go to bed like this.

Then he thinks, it's not like he can avoid showers forever, right?

Right.

So that's how he ends up on his knees on the cold, wet tile of his shower, his head tilted back and mouth open in pleasure, as he tries not to scream when he finds his prostate and keeps stabbing it with three fingers. 

He comes so hard he has to bite his lip to keep from screaming, and even so, he spams so much he tears it open. Blood drips down his chin, spunk from his spent cock, and he pulls his fingers out of his ass. 

He lies there, on his elbows and knees, lungs working madly to get his breathing under control, his eyes tired and his brain a mess.

What. The. Fuck.

Seriously. What the fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not enters relationships with manipulative bastards. Not even if they're hot.


	6. Shit I haven't signed for (but boy do I like it)

Asher doesn't so much goes to sleep as he falls in his bed, feeling weightless and numb. His body is thrumming with the aftershock of what he could call 'the mightiest orgasm that has ever hit him' - that is, he could call it like that if he didn't immediately fall in one of the deepest states of slumber he's experienced in a long, long time. Probably his entire life.

He wakes up the morning after and he wishes he was still asleep. The shame that falls on him, the regret - he doesn't know if it felt like this or worse, when he's told coach about the steroids.

'Probably not' he thinks, because he knows he can be astonishingly stupid, when there is something between him and success. At least when it's about football.

He lies in bed, looking up at the ceiling. He tries to come to terms with his new realization. No, actually, that should be a plural. Shit, maybe this trip with his mom hasn't been a good idea - if he'd stayed in Cali then he wouldn't know he likes dcks, too, and that if he sticks something up his ass he can come twice as harder than when he fucks a girl.

He bites his lip and covers his face with his hands. God, why does it have to be so complicated.

Sexual orientation isn't a problem for him - he doesn't care what people are into. But it doesn't change the fact that even if it's 2020 sports are still a pretty homophobic environment, whatever the discipline, and it will be a big deal, coming out or not.

And even if it wasn't hard enough, coming to terms with that big news about himself, and figuring out how to integrate that into his life of a potentially professional athlete, there are two other, side-problems, which actually aren't that marginal.

The first: Liv. He loves her, but she's clearly drifting away from him. And while he might not appreciate losing another girlfriend to Spencer James (seriously, what the everloving fuck), he still isn't an idiot. He knows that he feels love for Liv, but he also knows that this love isn't the one he should be feeling for the girl he is engaged to. A relationship of love does not feel like this.

He sighs. Whatever. He'll face that issue when he's back in Beverly Hills, when they can talk face to face. If she will tell him that she doesn't love him and they should be just friends - well. He'll think about that, then. For now he still considers himself, a, taken, and, b, in love with her. Whatever this type of love he feels for her might be.

So, moving onto his second problem: Rajid. The guy is seriously bad news. He is a psycho and a criminal, and Ash can't believe he's been cornered so much that the best solution, to keep everyone safe, is that he exposes himself. Is that he plays along. Aren't laws supposed to keep these things from happening? What's the point, if Asher can't be protected from what is clearly a dangerous stalker?

'God, now I really understand women' he thinks between himself, smirking bitterly through his fingers. He looks at the ceiling and wonders what the fuck should he do.

He's honestly at a loss here. For words, thoughts, ideas... anything.

Oh, and, of course, he's got a morning wood problem to take care of.

He sighs and gets up, heading for the bathroom. He steps in the shower, lets water fall over his front. He hisses when the spray hits his erected cock, and he turns slightly, to shield it. Now most of the water flows on his neck and shoulders - which is just adding to the bliss.

Without thinking, he drips a hand lower, grasping at and fondling his balls. They feel hot and heavy. He tips his head up, eyes closed. The water on his face feels good. He sighs and moves the hand from his balls to his dick. He fists a couple of times, bites his lip. He slips his other hand along his hip, moving backward. He caresses his asscheek, does it again, using nails.

He hisses. He likes it.

He slips a finger between his cheeks and finds the lube he's used hours before. He blushes. That should be gross, but he only finds it hot. He feels certainly dirty, but in an unexpectedly exciting way. He rubs the pad of his finger against his hole. He thinks it twitches. He focuses on the sensation, rubs harder. It definitely twitches, pushing open. His breath hitches.

Eyes closed, lips parted open, he strokes his cock faster and pushes his finger inside, up to the last knuckle. He only stops because of his hand.

He moves his finger around and gasps, eyes flying open. His mouth hangs open, he thinks he might be gaping. He keeps moving his finger inside. Oh god, it feels so good. Why does it feel so good? He gulps down air. He wants more. He took more, last time. He can take more.

He lets go of his cock, bends forwards, braces himself with his free hand on the tile.

'Fuck it' he thinks, and drops to his knees. He spreads his legs for a better reach. He uses his free hand to spread himself open. The thought already makes him tremble with desire. He pushes a second finger inside.

Wait, the angle is awkward - pull them out. Yes, slide an arm between legs. Fingers back in. Oh, much better now. But, wait, ouch - ouch! Too fast, dammit. Pushed too fast. Ouch, ouch, ouch. And I am using lube. Jesus. Pull the second finger out, too. Damn, it stings.

He swallows and rubs his joined fingers against his hole. He tries to make it twitch another couple of times. When the burning feeling is gone he swallows and pushes one in again. Oh, this is much better. The second slips in with no incident, as well. He pushes up, scissors them, tries, very slowly, very gently, to distance them from one another.

Oh god. It's good. It's really good. He wishes he could see himself. He wishes he was in front of a mirror and could see his asshole open up. Then he pushes up, fingers joined again, and pushes - oh damn, yes, yes, yes! There it is, he's found his prostate, he almost yelps in surprise and pleasure.

He bites his lip harder, he's struggling to keep the moans down. He pushes and pushes and pushes. IT feels so good. He tries to balance on his knees so he can jerk his cock with one hand, finger himself with the other. He comes so hard he almost screams, and he bites harder on his lip. He tears it open again, right where the abused flesh has been mauled only hours prior.

He pulls his hand away, spends a few seconds lying on all fours, struggles to catch his breath.

Then he decides that as soon as he's back in Beverly he's buying himself a plug - make it a birthday present to himself. Or Christmas. Whatever. Just do it. One of those that can be stuck on flat surfaces.

He imagines himself, naked, oiled ass, riding the plug, bouncing over it. Making his cheeks jiggle. His cock twitches but stays mercifully down.

With some effort, Asher gets on his feet and initiates the process of actual showering.

-0-

He walks to the balcony where his mom and Tom usually have breakfast. He moves as fast as he can, without running, but the recent developments and all that moving have left his ribs tender and achy, and he'd better pay attention.

It's late, but his mom is still there. She looks like she's finished a long while ago but waited for him. No Tom in sight.

Asher steps on the balcony, goes to take a seat in front of her. She smiles beautifully. He mirrors it - he's missed her so much. Missed her happy, even more.

She offers him the coffee pot and he nods, accepting. She pours him a cup and cuts a few slices of different cakes, puts them on a saucer, places it in his reach.

He laughs.

"What?" she asks, puzzled but still smiling.

He waves a hand in dismissal.

"You haven't babied me in a long time"

She smiles more: "You're still my baby, what do you think"

He blushes, smiles. Fine, this is actually beaming.

"Yeah, well" he says: "you're still my mom"

She almost gasps. She beams back, and Asher is sure he's got this expression from her - he's sure they are wearing the same happy face. He blushes more and hides it behind his cup. She lets him get away with it.

They talk about stuff. Stupid things. School, assignments, colleges friends want to apply to. Then they talk about football, the team, the colleges he could apply to. And he tells her about Liv, he tells her he's worried about Liv.

His mom nods, understanding.

"Addictions are nasty" she agrees.

She doesn't push and doesn't mention it, but they look at each other and they both know they're thinking about Ash, as well. About the alcohol, the steroids. For a teenager, he's already fucked up plenty with addictions.

Never being good enough sucks. He'll never give Liv a hard time for it, especially not given his own terrible ways to cope.

His mom says she has to leave, has to meet Tom somewhere. Asher spends more than an entire minute reassuring her that it's okay and not, he does not feel cast aside and yes, he will be fine. He is saved by Thomas, showing up to invite Ash to the gardens.

Asher's mother leaves, and he follows Thomas in direction of a cozy looking bower. There are four iron chairs, elegant and solid despite the fragile look, under a roof of jasmine. The scent is good, although after a while it makes Asher's nose twitch.

Thomas points one of the chairs at him and tells him to take a seat. Ash does, orienting the chair so that he can see Thomas from where he's working on some bushes, and Thomas can see him as well.

"So, did your lover boy come to take you out yesterday?" Thomas asks.

Asher rolls his eyes.

"Do we have to talk about him?"

Thomas snorts: "No, if you don't want to. But I am worried, you know" he replies, frowning from over one of the bushes.

Asher looks puzzled at that: "For what?" he asks.

Thomas snorts again and smiles. "For you, you idiot!" he answers, and winks: "you gave me the idea of someone with way too little preservation instinct, and. around someone like that madman? Not a good thing"

This is Asher's turn to snort. Oh, if the people at home could hear Thomas right now.

"Not really, but thanks. I mean, I am handling it. He kind of tricked me into accepting that I go out with him, though"

Thomas straightens from his crouch and doesn't stand, but he invests Asher with a full-worried frown.

"Tricked you?" he repeats.

Asher waves his hand: "Seriously, I am fine. I'm handling it. He just insisted that he's taking me out tonight"

"Where?" Thomas asks. He sits on his haunches and rests his hands full of tools on his overall pants.

Asher shrugs: "Honestly I have no idea. Somewhere, for dinner"

Thomas doesn't reply, but, judging from the way he scowls at the bushes, and his stiff movements for the following few seconds, he does not like that.

"Hey" Asher calls: "what's wrong?"

Thomas looks at him in silence, then he exhales softly and shakes his head: "I'm worried. I don't like it. Pay attention, Asher"

Asher snorts: "I swear I am doing it"

Thomas hums skeptically but doesn't push. They spend a few moments in silence. Not unpleasant, but, weird. Asher has come to think of him as a sort of friend, but it's weird to call someone a friend when you don't know anything about them.

"How come you're a gardener?" he asks, out of the blue.

Thomas laughs.

"I could tell you a thousand reasons but the honest answer is, my wife loves flowers"

Asher laughs: "What?!"

They talk about Thomas and his wife for a while. About the family he wants to have. Asher thinks Thomas can't be much older than he himself, maybe five, six years. And yet he's married already and in love, and wants to have kids. Asher looks at him with confusion and awe. As much as he loves Liv, he definitely doesn't see the two of them as a married couple.

'Guess that adds to the rest of the problems, uh' he thinks.

He wonders if he could, in general, see himself married to a woman, in some years. He thinks he could. He doesn't think he would marry a man. But he probably would end up marrying someone more like Layla, rather than Liv. And again, that says something about him.

Thomas senses his changing mood, and swifts the conversation onto a safer topic.

"So, why can't Americans just play football like the rest of us?"

Asher snorts.

It echoes a bit too much what Rajid has said the night before, but he dives into another explanation - and if he says more or less the same things he's told Rajid, eh, no one will be the wiser, right?

Thomas is a good listener, maybe it has to do with being a gardener. Or maybe not. Whatever the reason, Ash finds himself spilling more beans he's ever done - maybe only with Liv he's been this honest. He tells him about the alcohol, his father, about playing a part. About the playbook, and the steroids.

Thomas looks at him pointedly after that one. Ash guesses he can't really ask the guy not to judge. Even so, he doesn't say much, much: "I thought you wanted to be a winner"

Meekly, Asher looks down, at the tip of his shoes. He says, I do.

"Yes, but, taking drugs? That's like admitting you'll never be good enough. And those scouts? The ones that have selected you? Pretty sure they think you are"

Asher swallows, nods.

He doesn't say anything. There isn't anything he can say.

Thomas cuts a branch off the bay tree hedge behind him. He offers it to Ash, who, hesitantly, takes it.

"Here"

Asher frowns, confused.

Thomas grins: "You know, in most European countries Roman traditions have left a big impact. Like this one. Romans crowned winners of games with a wreath of bay tree" he explains.

Asher blushes. He murmurs a thank you, and smiles sheepishly. Thomas shrugs, like it's no big deal, and points towards another bower not too far.

"Let's go there. I need to work on roses next"

Asher stands up and follows, the branch firmly in his hand.

-0-

Asher spends the rest of his (late) morning with Thomas. Then he has lunch with his mother (no Tom, still away, somewhere) and sleeps for most of the afternoon. He wakes up because he's forgot to put his phone on silent, and a SMS makes it chirp loudly.

He startles, grumbles wordlessly, and grabs the offending, chirping phone where it lays on the bed. 

He hopes it's Liv.

It's not Liv.

It's an unknown, French number.

He lets the phone fall back on the bed and yawns. Well, he thinks, it couldn't have really been Liv, because back home right now is barely morning. And it's summer, no school. Liv should be sleeping. He hopes she's sleeping, unbothered.

Also, French number.

He frowns, staring at nothing.

Dread creeps from a backdoor of his brain and freezes it into awareness. It's an unpleasant feeling, a bit like when you step in the shower expecting the water to be hot and find it cold.

He grabs the phone and looks at the unregistered number. Okay, the fact that this is a French number doesn't mean anything ominous, per se, but, he has this very, very big hunch that it's from Rajid.

Or Jacques Coleman? But writing on Rajid's behalf, because, why would the little shit ever write to Asher, out of his own initiative.

He thumbs the message open.

'I hope you've had a pleasant sleep, Cher. Dress up nicely, I'm taking you somewhere fancy later. Pick you up at 7'

Yes, it's Rajid.

He sighs, drops the phone, falls back with his shoulders on the mattress. He's not really happy of having been proved right. Actually, he suddenly wished he's never met Rajid at all, or Jacques Coleman.

He has a suit here, but he's not wearing it for Rajid, the guy is delusional if he thinks Asher will. But he can always wear slacks and a shirt, he considers. Not for Rajid, but... Okay. Maybe a bit yes. Mostly because he has to kind of play along with what he wants. For now.

He turns and hesitates, trying to hold his weight and at the same time checking if his ribs hurt when he puts pressure on them. They don't, which is great. He sinks onto his side and closes his eyes, smiling in satisfaction. Then he frowns, open his eyes again. He twists and reaches for his phone. He types a sweet good morning to Liv. And only then he goes back to his previous position, and falls asleep again.

-0-

As promised, Rajid comes to pick him up at 7. Asher has just showered and literally just finished buttoning his shirt up, still has to wear his shoe, when Thomas knocks on the door and informs his that Rajid is at the gate, waiting for him. Engine still on.

Asher snorts. He doesn't hurry, not even a little bit. But he doesn't drag it longer than necessary as well, because he doesn't want to make Rajid mad even before showing up. It would probably be risky.

When he opens the door of the car Rajid is playing on his phone, but he smiles and puts it quickly away as soon as he sees Asher in the passenger's seat. He bends closer and kisses Asher's cheek.

Ash is caught by surprise and looks a lot like a deer caught in the lights.

"You look so good, Cher" Rajid compliments him. He smiles and doesn't leer, for once.

Ash swallows, his lips in a thin line, and tries not to blush. It's way too early to start with that shit.

"Where are we going?" he asks, not exactly politely but not really rude either.

Rajid answers rather elusively: "It's a nice place on the coast, you'll like it. The view is amazing" he says, shaking his hand dismissively between them.

Considering that Nice is a city on the coast, half its public venues fit with that description, so Rajid isn't exactly telling him anything. It's not surprising that he doesn't offer more information either. He waits for Asher to fasten his seatbelt and then puts the car in reverse.

"You look really good, by the way" Rajid says again, glancing at Asher in appreciation while he's driving them.

He still doesn't real and has this very honest face on, which leaves Asher feeling rather thorn on whether he likes it or not.

"Uh... thanks" he mutters, looking out from his window.

"You know, usually sports guys look ridiculous wearing formal clothes. But you really don't. You could pass for a model" he adds, half a joke, half a compliment.

Asher doesn't know what to say.

"I... kind of know" he admits, smiling into what is actually his trademark smirk, and he doesn't really know why he's using that with Rajid, but, whatever.

Rajid laughs. It#s a nice sound, and Asher's stomach twists because Rajid looks really, really handsome, when he laughs.

"Wow Cher, I was not expecting you to act all modest, but I kinda like this cocky side of you"

Asher shrugs: "Yeah, I guess modesty isn't exactly one of my traits" he admits, smiling with too much pride in his eyes to look bashful.

Rajid grins: "No, and trust me, modesty is overrated anyway"

Asher snorts: "Oh, that's how you tell yourself to justify the fact that you obviously don't even know what modesty is?"

Rajid laughs, another full, real laugh: "Never bother with that shit, no, Cher" he admits, eyes grinning.

He drives them on a secondary road, all on the coast and very panoramic. It's honestly very pretty, and from time to time Rajid slows down and points his finger at something, showing it to Asher. He drops some comments about recent history of the place or fun facts, stuff that Asher finds out he likes to know. It's unsettling, though, because he isn't used to this version of Rajid, and he almost forgets what this man really is. Who he is. How far from this pleasant, gentleman-ish persona he's pasted on right now.

And Rajid most likely knows, and he sees the exact moment Asher realizes this, because he never hesitates in the act, never drops it, and never lets Asher get a glimpse, a reminder of the real thing. Also, he keeps Asher engaged in a conversation about everything and nothing, and Asher finds himself relaxing more and more.

Too much? Maybe.

They park in a parking lot with only a few cars, all of them looking very expensive. Rajid is greeted with wide eyes and big smiles by the staff of the venue, even a couple of bows. Waiters guide him and Asher to a terrace. Their table is on a very strategic spot: very panoramic, perfect to admire the scenery, but it also offers them a perfect view on the inside of the restaurant.

Remembering that this guy is basically a mob boss, Asher has a feeling the outside view is for him, and the inside one for Rajid.

And then he snaps out of his reveries and finds Rajid holding his chair out for him. Asher rolls his eyes and takes his seat, with Rajid laughing again at his expression.

When they are seated a waiter hurries (and proceeds to look like he's not hurrying at all) to pour them water and offer a glass of wine as a starter. The menu are placed very discreetly on a corner of the table.

"So, what did you do today?" Rajid asks, as soon as they are alone. He raises his glass to Ash and toasts. Asher does the same, purely out of the ingrained training he's parents have drilled into him.

Before he can think of an answer Rajid goes on: "Are your ribs hurting you? I hope they don't"

Ash kind of freezes. This? The reminder that Rajid can hurt him? He doesn't really understand that, given what Rajid is trying to do here. Which so far has looked like charming Asher into stupidity, and compliance.

Asher replies that no, they don't bother him, he's fine. He wonders if he should have said yes instead. Then, more out of a politeness that he can't help, he asks the same question to Rajid, what has he done that day. He isn't surprised to receive a dismissive answer.

"Look, Cher, I have to ask you this. I have never figured out this thing about American schools..." he starts.

Oh, so that's how they play it then. Yesterday it was football, today it is school.

Asher answers every one of Rajid's questions and doubts, playing along, but he knows what games Rajid is playing. He's making Asher talk about things he knows, about things that are harmless and very likely to put him at ease.

Rajid knows Asher has figured his game out, but still, it's not like Asher can step up from his chair and leave, right? So he still has the upper hand.

A waiter (a different one) comes and takes their orders. Rajid suggests food and wine but turns to Asher for his opinion, so he's sort of ordering for both of them and at the same time he isn't. Asher just nods. Another score for this gentleman version of Rajid, at least in theory.

They talk about schools and colleges, Rajid curious about the difference from France and the States, and Asher honest to god confused at some of the things Rajid says it works (apparently) in here. Rajid asks him what he would choose to study, if he didn't have football.

Asher shrugs.

"I don't know. I have always liked football more than anything. Maybe law?" he thinks about it for a few seconds, then he shrugs: "Yeah... probably law"

Rajid makes an impressed face. They talk some more, always on the line of topics like this. Rajid's impressed face comes up more and more often, to the point that Asher starts wondering if it's actually genuine.

"Cher, you're really smart, you know? I can see it. Like, really smart" Rajid says, looking straight into Asher's eyes like he's putting his facade aside for this moment of truth. Then his eyes twinkle darkly, and he lifts one hand to count on his fingers.

"You're smart, you're a good athlete, you've got an amazing body. And you are a very good person too. You're practically perfect"

Asher snorts.

"Really, Rajid? Flattery?" he asks.

Rajid doesn't paste his persona back on, or at least Asher thinks, but his smile isn't predatory and there is something too soft in his eyes, which means that he probably does, and Asher is losing his grasp on how to spot that.

Bad.

"This isn't flattery, Cher. If I was flattering you then I would focus more on how hot you are. I would tell you what those pants do to your ass and your legs. Or how that shirt kind of makes me want to rip it off of you. Which are all honest to god truths, but I am not saying them. Also, you already know each of these things" he adds, winking.

Asher blushes, and hides it behind a sip of his wine.

Okay, fine, he's handed this one to him, he can't even blame the guy.

Food comes at least, so he's saved.

Rajid acts as if he hadn't dropped that comment at all, back with the gentleman persona still firmly on. That is, until the food is over.

"You know Cher... a guy like you, living in open minded Los Angeles. How come you've never thought you might like men too?"

Asher shrugs, honest. The question is lecit and there is no malice nor ledw intentions behind it - Asher has actually asked that himself a couple of times in the past days. He is pretty sure Rajid isn't trying to make him uncomfortable, but still. He doesn't have an answer to that question.

"I... " he tries, and shrugs again: "I don't know. I guess I've never met someone I liked" he says.

And of course blushes in the following two seconds, when he's holding Rajid's stare, and notices the way the guy starts to wink and smirk.

"No, I mean... I mean, I don't even know what I like in a guy" he hurriedly adds.

Rajid's face does a weird thing - it almost shifts into his shark face, but then the charming smile is back, and he just winks: "Well, if you feel like some learning by doing, you know you can count on me"

Asher blushes and opens his mouth to protest (not that he has a clue what to say to do that), but Rajid stops him, raising a hand between them.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable" he apologises.

Asher's jaw clinks shut and his forgets the words he was desperately trying to find. He just nods, biting on his tongue before he might say something stupid like, If I was single, I wouldn't mind taking you up on that.

Rajid brings up another topic and Asher follows his lead. He realizes again how fast he's losing focus on who this guy is, and why he is dangerous. How this guy should never, never end up on Asher's list of potential people to experiment with.

Rajid knows. The bastard acts all charming, hot and nice, brings him to a nice place, with a pretty location and amazing wine... and Asher wonders if he's just been digging his own grave the entire night.

-0-

They're back in the car, parked outside Tom's villa.

Asher is still laughing at a dumb joke Rajid made and he has to wipe away tears from his eyes.

Rajid kills the engine, and turns to him.

Finally dropping that fucking facade.

The look he gives Asher sobers him up in a second.

Asher swallows.

"Well, Cher" he starts, his voice a nice drawl: "I've had fun with you. And I think you've had fun with me too, uh?" he asks, confident, cocky.

Asher swallows again, nods.

"Well then. I guess I should let you go to sleep, before I forget my manners, uh?" he half jokes, and winks. His smile is one-hundred percent his shark smile right now, and Asher doesn't like how a part of his brain suddenly considers telling him to please go ahead and forget them.

He only nods.

Before he can make a move for the door, though, Rajid lifts one of his big hands and places it, gently, on Asher's jaw.

Gentle, warm, strong.

Still holding him with a touch of possessiveness.

He doesn't press, he doesn't threaten, but, he's almost choked Asher enough times that Asher startles and flinches anyway.

Rajid doesn't let go.

"Shht, shht. I just wanted to ask you a kiss, Cher" he whispers, leaning closer.

Asher tries to back away again, but Rajid's hand moves, slithers to the back of his neck, grabs him there. Holds his still. A thumb is rubbing at his nape, and Rajid leans close again, still making that soothing sound, as if Asher was a spooked pet.

"No, Cher, don't go. I am not going to hurt you, I promise. I only want a kiss. That's not much, is it? Only a kiss"

Asher moans in the back of his throat and tries to push back again: "N...no" he half whimpers, eyes glued to Rajid's lips.

Rajid, barely one inch away, stops, and looks at him. Eyes, face, mouth, back to Asher's eyes.

"Come on, Asher. You had fun with me, hadn't you? You can trust me. You can trust me now. It will be just a kiss" he whispers again, honest and seductive.

Asher swallows: "I... I can't" he tries, and fuck is his voice hoarse.

Rajid makes that soothing sound again: "Don't be scared, Cher... Just a kiss. I've been good to you, haven't I? And I've been thinking about you since yesterday.. After what we said you'd do all alone..."

Asher shivers at the memory, and Rajis presses a chaste kiss on Asher's cheek. Then another, on the side of his jaw he hasn't touched yet.

"Please Cher. I've spent all day, thinking about you, about you doing what I told you"

Another kiss on Asher's cheek.

"I haven't even asked you if you've done it, have I? I wanted to, god I still want to, but I haven't asked, because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable"

Rajid kisses right under Asher's jaw.

"Please Cher, just a kiss"

Asher gives in.

He shouldn't, but, fuck.

He turns his head less than a hair's width and Rajid is there. But it's one-hundred percent Asher zeroing the distance, finds Rajid's mouth and presses his lips against Rajid's. He hates himself for the tiny moan he makes. 

Rajid kisses... well. It#s good, okay? It's the fucking best Asher has ever had.

Ash melts into it, even opens his mouth, short of begging Rajid to slip him his tongue. Rajid moans in victory, and does. The hand at the back of Asher's head cradling him tightens, and the kiss turns heated, Rajid tongue-fucking Asher who just moans. He moans, eyes closed, and takes it.

Rajid leans closer, eating up every sound Ash makes.

Asher's brain is... what brain?

His head had switched off, and he's drunk on the good smell of Rajid's skin, his body heat, the taste of him. For that moment nothing else exists, only the kiss, and Ash is hard in his pants, already leaking in his boxers.

If Rajid would put a hand between his legs now, he would feel it. And that was a wrong thought because it makes Asher moan again, thinking about Rajid putting a hand between his legs. Thinking about Rajid sucking a hickey on his throat, and neck, down his chest. Sliding down on Asher' body with those big, strong fingers...

But then Rajid really puts a hand on Asher's tight, and he startles, muscle memory kicking in and the boy suddenly remembering last time Rajid has touched him it was to almost choke him.

Asher flinches away, back against the window. Eyes blown, panting hard, mouth swollen.

Rajid lets him go, frowning, pupils just as blown and a hungry expression. His eyes are pinned on Asher's lips, still slicked with their mixed salivas, reddened by the kiss. He looks like all he wants is to drag Asher back into the kiss, or maybe push him face down in his lap.

Asher shivers, thinking about giving head to Rajid. He swallows, tries to regain some composure.

"Good night Rajid" he says, voice hoarse and fear all too obvious in his dilated eyes.

Rajid, who sees it, just nods.

He knows better than to push now.

"Good night Cher. I will pick you up tomorrow" he says, his voice low, controlled.

Asher's breath hitches, and he thinks about protesting. But Rajid's eyes tell him to think better, and sort of that he's expecting Asher to. So Ash swallows, and thinks that for this time it's better to just go along with it. He nods.

Rajid's expression mellows some, opens in a smile.

"Sleep well" he says softly.

Asher swallows again, nods.

"You too" he says.

He doesn't move.

He should move.

Rajid sees him hesitating and smirks.

"Do you want another kiss, or...?"

Asher's hand flies for the door handle: "No, no thanks, I'm good. Bye Rajid" he says, and he all but launches himself out of the car.

Rajid laughs, and it echoes into the night, following Asher along where he's running up the driveway.

-0-

Later that night, in the shower, Asher does it again. He jerks off and fingers himself, pushing three fingers in and stabbing desperately at his prostate.

He moans, tries to be quiet, closes his eyes. He wishes he could bounce on a plug, stick something inside.

He moves his other hand away from his reddened cock, fondles a nipple, pushes two fingers in his mouth. He sucks and imagines himself in the car, bent over the gearbox and giving head to Rajid. Rajid pushing him down and fucking up into his mouth, and him, sucking on Rajid's cock, licking it, sucking it again.

He collapses forward, fingers pumping madly in and out, almost cries in frustration because it's not enough, and either he fingers himself and goes for his prostate or he jerks off. He doesn't want to choose. He needs something inside and he needs a hand on his cock.

He moves his hand back from his mouth to his cock and jerk off fast, in time with his fingers, and he comes.

He almost blackens out.

He lays there, folded over his legs, catching his breath, water hitting his back.

Two things are clear: one, he really needs a damn plug. He needs to invest the money in buying one or who knows what he might end up putting in his ass, next time lust hits so hard.

And second: he is so, so fucked.

But then again, what is new?

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked the story so far please consider leaving a feedback. Please note that there will be plenty of non-con elements, although I promise it won't escalate (shouldn't, I think) but in case, be advised, there is the tag for a reason. Thank you for reading!


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